


Life Like A Ghibli Movie

by peachmeowzipan



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Fluff, Friendship, Gender-neutral Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Lonliness, Monster Cop Papyrus, Monsterphobia, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Reader drinks alcohol, Reader is not Frisk or Chara, Reader rides a motorcycle, Romance, Self-Destructive Behavior, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Wanderlust, themes of depression, using religion as an excuse to be terrible
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2020-01-23 17:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 75,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18554194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachmeowzipan/pseuds/peachmeowzipan
Summary: “YES, WELL,” their expression seemed to scrunch up with... distaste? Disappointment? Nah, they didn't know you well enough to be disappointed. “'THAT LIFE' IS ILLEGAL, AS FAR AS I AM AWARE. I AM AFRAID THAT YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES HERE, HUMAN! EITHER–”“Only two?” you asked, your tone disappointed. They nodded solemnly at you.“ONLY TWO,” they said, “YOU CAN EITHER–”“Why only two?” you interrupted again, managing to maintain your poker face despite your sudden urge to smile. Their brow seemed to furrow, interestingly enough, as if their features were more elastic than they looked.“BECAUSE YOU HAVE MADE POOR LIFE CHOICES.”





	1. I  heard keep drinking, whoop whoop

**Author's Note:**

> god. i'm _so_ fucking nervous about publishing something that's more longform?? but i know where i want this story to go, so... here i go. i hope everybody likes it.  
> i_don't_know_how_real_police_badges_work_but_bear_with_me.txt
> 
> ((the 'food for flowers' thing mentioned later is a real bit of art/poetry i saw on tumblr YEARS ago, and it's stuck with me since i was a teen. does anybody know what i'm talking about?? because i've looked, and i can't find it. i don't even remember who i reblogged it from, but my old blog is long gone, anyway.))

Spring was one of your favorite seasons, aesthetically speaking.

Despite the heat, the bugs, and the allergies, the sight of flowers blooming in tight bunches, covering the tops of trees like clouds of cotton candy– every year, it filled you with hope. It went all the way back to when you were a kid, sitting in your front yard daily and watching the crabapple tree bloom with reddish-pink buds that flowered and sprouted into the hard, red berry. You used to have fights with your sibling when they were ready, picking handfuls and then launching the hard projectiles at each other in an all-out battle.

It was spring, now. Early spring. The buds were only just beginning to sprout on the trees, tiny green dots that peppered the branches in tightly shut clusters, still closed against the lingering chill of winter, but growing in spite of it. You were laying on your back at Ebott State Park, drinking your feelings from a case of beer in a _completely-legal_ , and _not-at-all_ -self-pitying way. Looking up, you watched the green-speckled branches sway in a gentle breeze, half-lidded gaze slightly unfocused as you nursed your ninth– or was it your tenth?– ale. You preferred the fruity stuff, and the glass bottle clutched loosely in your slackening grip was strawberry flavored and half-empty. You still had a lot left, and while you weren't necessarily _planning_ on finishing the whole twenty-four pack, you certainly weren't pacing yourself. But damn, if this wasn't therapeutic in a c _ompletely-healthy_ way.

You breathed out a sigh, closing your eyes and just... feeling the wind as it brushed across your face, ruffled through your hair. Normally, you would be worried about the time, because you had work tomorrow, and it was probably really late. You would be worried about bugs crawling up into your hair, or mud dirtying it. You would be worried about the dark clouds on the horizon, moving closer to slowly obscure the moon and threatening rain since early this evening. You would be worried about passersby seeing you and reporting you to the park rangers, or harassing you– but nothing was worrying you tonight.

You had reached a new level of apathy, perhaps something even close to Zen. Not giving a shit had never been so easy.

You took a slow drink of your strawberry ale, careful to drink in tiny sips so you wouldn't choke on it or spill, and you didn't even bother opening your eyes. You could probably fall asleep right here. Maybe you would, given enough time and alcohol. The likelihood had been subtly increasing with each empty bottle slid carefully back into the box next to you, the bottle caps jingling merrily in your pocket whenever you moved. You'd add them to the Jar of Caps, when you got home. _If_ you got home. Right now, going home felt optional, like something you might never have to do again, if you didn't want to. This felt right, out here, this felt _good_. You felt free.

And what was waiting for you back home, anyway? An empty apartment, noisy and nosy neighbors who just _would not stop_ smoking pot with their apartment door open, a broken refrigerator, and work in the morning. There was nobody who would miss you if you slipped away in the night, never to return. Nobody but your landlord, and maybe the old woman two doors down. You did her grocery shopping for her once a week, and you didn't always take her money, but she always offered it and she never brought it up when you left it on the table for her. She could always find somebody else, though. You weren't irreplaceable.

You entertained a fantasy, for a moment. One in which you walked back to your bike and went home, gathered up everything of value and took it to a pawn shop to sell. You rode away with the money in your pocket, the clothes on your back, and what little possessions of yours you could fit into a backpack. You drove as far away from this city as you could, drove away from everyone you knew, everything that was familiar, and you never looked back.

You hitchhiked after you had to sell your bike, and you rode in the back of pick-up trucks with farmers and tourists from town to town, from place to place, swapping stories and drinking shitty beer. The sun shone down on you, and you laughed. You smiled. You did odd jobs when the rest of your money ran out, worked on a farm– no, a ranch– for three weeks taking care of horses. You learned how to ride one, made friends with the rancher, made friends with the townsfolk, and then you left. Blew out of their lives like a tumbleweed, and maybe you never came back. You didn't _have_ to. You weren't tied down there, you didn't _need_ to stay.

You made it to the ocean– the _other_ ocean, the one on the other side of the mainland, and you stood on the edge of a cliff next to a lighthouse and you _yelled_. You spread your arms out and laughed, unrestrained, _free_.

Maybe you'd settle down, there. Maybe you'd shack up in somebody's loft apartment, maybe work at a local bar to make money while you saved up to get your own place. A little house by the sea. Maybe you'd paint, or write. Or maybe you'd leave.

Maybe you'd look for home somewhere else, and maybe you'd look forever and never find it, but still be happy. You'd hitchhike again, see what other states had to offer. You'd save up money to buy a camper, or a van. You'd always wanted one of those old-fashioned hippy vans with the shuttered blinds and the brown and orange stripes on the side. You could set up a bed inside, get one of those little George Foreman grills and a mini-fridge and just camp out forever.

The fantasy broke up as you tilted your ale back again, a thin, wistful smile curling at your lips. You cracked your eyes open and watched the branches sway some more, contemplated staying here all night, and maybe for the next few days, if you could get away with it.

You'd always seen yourself as the type of person who might settle down somewhere someday, maybe in a tiny cabin somewhere. Somewhere cozy, somewhere small with a big yard like your grandma had. She grew vegetables and strawberries and flowers, and you wanted to do that, too. You used to hang out in your grandma's backyard and help her water the vegetables and the rose bushes. When she moved away, she had even more room for a garden, but you didn't get to see it as much. It probably wasn't there, anymore.

You took another drink, listening to the distant crunch of footsteps growing closer as you finished your beer and placed the empty bottle back in the box. Your fingers found another one without your eyes, and you tugged it out gently, twisted the cap off and tucked it in your pocket with the others.

The branches above you swayed and shuffled against each other, shushing themselves in the quiet night. Above them, stars twinkled down between wisps of dark clouds, winking occasionally like they were smiling right back at you. When you were a kid, your mom told you that if a star was blinking at you, it meant someone you loved was waving down at you from Heaven. You waved back. Took a sip of ale and toasted the empty air. You weren't sure when you started crying.

You wanted to raise chickens and sell vegetables to tourists on the side of the road while you made real money writing books. You wanted to wander and wander until your feet stopped itching, and your soul stopped screaming for you to _just go_. You wanted something to soothe this hollow ache that followed you around wherever you went, this huge, oppressive force that made you feel... trapped.

You took another sip of ale, sighed a slow breath out to the sweet night sky. The crunching footsteps grew louder, sounded like boots on dirt and twigs, crushing them easily along with old pine cones and dead leaves that had been uncovered after the snow had all melted. You folded an arm behind your head, let your eyes slip closed again. The breeze smelled wet, like it was bringing rain. You hoped it would rain, then hoped it wouldn't. Wondered what would happen if you just stayed out here, anyway, even when the rain was pelting down and the thunder rumbled threateningly overhead.

You'd probably get sick. You might even die.

You took a long, slow sip of ale, let silent tears trickle down from the corner of your eyes and slip into your ears and your hair. You sniffed once, blinked some tears away, and the crunching grew nearer as you stared up at the sky, forced yourself to think about the stars instead, about the tiny buds of spring blooming into pretty pink and white flowers. They'd fall like leaves in autumn and coat the ground like snow. There'd be enough that you could round up a whole basket, if you wanted to, just to have, just to stick your hands in and feel. You could throw them up into the air and make them rain down again, lay back and let yourself get covered in them.

You saw some poetry once that said all living things were just food for flowers. You couldn't remember who wrote it, or where you read it, but you didn't think there was anything you'd rather be, when the time came. Food for flowers. You wanted a garden to grow out of your body when you died.

The footsteps were very close now, boots jogging down the path behind you, maybe only ten feet away. Your tears had dried in your hair, left drying tracks against your skin and tiny pools of liquid in the folds of your ears. You took another sip of your ale as you heard them slow and then stop, and a voice called out to you, high and loud and boisterous.

“HELLO? HUMAN?” they said, and you craned your neck back instead of getting up to twist around, pressing your scalp into the grass beneath you and sending the water in your ears down further into the canal. You lifted a hand to wipe it away as you craned back farther, saw red boots walking towards you connected to black pants. Spindly legs reached up and up to a red-clothed torso. A thin, long-sleeved shirt with black text across the front that read: ' _JOG HARDER_ ', tucked into gloves that were as bright red as their boots. A bright red scarf sat on broad shoulders, tied up and tucked in beneath a grinning skull. Empty, oblong sockets looked back at you as they approached. At least, you thought they looked at you. There was no way to tell.

You couldn't help but stare for a moment. Monsters had been freed from the Underground almost six years ago, now, but you'd never seen a skeleton monster, and the way they walked towards you through the darkness, dressed the way they were, felt almost like a scene out of some C-grade horror movie.

“Hey,” you lifted your bottle to toast the air towards them, as if to say, ' _cheers_ '. The monster stopped when they were only a few feet away, crouching down near you as they spoke.

“YES, HELLO! I SAW YOU LAYING OUT HERE, IMMOBILE, AND WAS CONCERNED THAT YOU HAD FALLEN,” their skull turned slightly in the direction of the case beside you, and they squinted their sockets slightly. You didn't follow their gaze, contemplating taking another sip of ale even though you were upside-down. As a power move. “SO I THOUGHT I WOULD STOP TO CHECK ON YOU, BUT HERE I SEE THAT YOU ARE SIMPLY PARTAKING IN ILLICIT ACTIVITIES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AT A STATE PARK!”

“Yeah, that's me,” you said slowly, almost slurring, but managing to enunciate in spite of how much alcohol you'd had, “I'm all about that life.”

“YES, WELL,” their expression seemed to scrunch up with... distaste? Disappointment? Nah, they didn't know you well enough to be disappointed. “' _THAT LIFE_ ' IS ILLEGAL, AS FAR AS I AM AWARE. I AM AFRAID THAT YOU HAVE TWO CHOICES HERE, HUMAN! EITHER–”

“Only two?” you asked, your tone disappointed. They nodded solemnly at you.

“ONLY TWO,” they said, “YOU CAN EITHER–”

“Why only two?” you interrupted again, managing to maintain your poker face despite your sudden urge to smile. Their brow seemed to furrow, interestingly enough, as if their features were more elastic than they looked.

“BECAUSE YOU HAVE MADE POOR LIFE CHOICES,” they said, and you couldn't help the tiny noise you made, halfway between a snicker and a snort. “I APOLOGIZE, HUMAN, I AM AWARE OF HOW RUDE IT MAY SOUND, BUT SOMETIMES IT IS NECESSARY TO BE HARSH IF ONE WISHES TO–”

“Do you want a sip?” you asked, gently tilting the bottle of strawberry ale their way and lifting your arm slightly, offering it to them. They drew back slightly, straightening up and looking affronted.

“HUMAN, PLEASE!” they exclaimed, “THAT IS HARDLY APPROPRIATE, AND I MUST INFORM YOU THAT YOU HAVE JUST OFFERED AN ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE TO AN OFFICER OF THE LAW!” You gasped as the severity of the situation failed to dawn on you.

“You're the cops??”

“I AM INDEED THE COPS,” they said seriously, and you moved as if to take an upside-down drink from the bottle. They reached out and snatched it from you, making a high, frustrated humming sound in the process. “DON'T JUST! _KEEP_ DRINKING!! YOU CAN'T JUST _DO_ THAT IN FRONT OF A POLICE OFFICER AFTER HE TOLD YOU NOT TO!”

“I heard keep drinking, whoop whoop,” you deadpanned, slowly pushing yourself up and taking another bottle out of the box beside you. They– _he_ – let out another irritable hum.

“HUMAN!” he yelled, this time swiping the box up too when he took the bottle out of your hand.

“Fuckin'... Officer _buzz_ -kill,” you muttered, laying back down and staring at the branches above you again, “Officer _kill_ -joy...”

“ALRIGHT.”

“Officer _fun-police_... man.”

“STOP.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mumbled, closing your eyes, “Sorry.”

“IT'S FINE,” he said, and you heard clinking glass, then liquid sloshing onto the grass.

Your eyes flew open and you shot up, fighting off the sudden vertigo as you whipped around to see him emptying the open bottle of strawberry ale onto the ground beside him.

“NO!!” you lunged for the bottle, but he yanked it away, throwing you a startled look as you toppled forward with a tiny 'oof'.

“ARE YOU O–”

“NO, oh my GOD, do you know how good that shit is, _please_ –” you pushed yourself up and reached for it again, but his arms were much longer than yours, and he easily held it out of your reach. He finished emptying the bottle seconds later, the last of the ale dribbling out in a foamy mess on the ground, and you hiccuped a sob.

“HUMAN,” he said, sighing in exasperation, “COME ON, NOW...”

“So good,” you said, a tear actually trickling down your cheek as you watched the bubbles fizzle and die in the grass, “Such a w-waste. The whole bottle, just g- _gone_.”

“YES,” he patted you on the shoulder with one gloved hand, replacing the now-empty bottle back in the twenty-four pack, “THESE THINGS HAPPEN.”

“He was so young, though,” you said miserably, falling back down in the grass. Your head landed with a slap in the puddle of ale, and the monster groaned.

“OH, GET UP,” he said. When you didn't move, he grabbed you by the arms and pulled you up himself. You slumped in his hold like a rag doll, and he huffed. “COME NOW, THIS IS EXCEEDINGLY IMMATURE. IT WAS ONLY ONE BEER.”

You let yourself sag further, relaxing every muscle in your body and going completely limp in his hold.

“THIS IS SO UNPROFESSIONAL,” he muttered, but lugged the case of beer up to balance between his elbow and his pelvis before he lifted you to carry bridal-style. “I SAID YOU HAD TWO CHOICES, HUMAN. DO YOU _WANT_ ME TO ARREST YOU??”

You mumbled something inaudible, folding yourself inward as if to slip out from between his arms. He made a frustrated noise and held you tighter, adjusting his hold so you weren't slipping.

“STOP IT. HONESTLY,” he sighed, then started walking to the path with you in his arms, “I DIDN'T CATCH THAT. DO YOU WANT TO GO TO THE DRUNK TANK, OR NOT?”

“Not,” you mumbled petulantly, kicking one foot. He hummed.

“THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT,” he said smugly, and you let your eyes close, allowing him to carry you. You were half-asleep anyway, after drinking so much. At least you didn't have to walk. “DO YOU WANT TO HEAR YOUR OPTIONS, OR DO YOU WANT ME TO JUST ENACT PLAN A?”

“Too many choices,” you slurred, bumping your head against his shoulder and letting ale soak into his shirt. “Instructions unclear.”

“THAT'S–” he huffed, shaking his head, “OKAY, HERE IS WHAT WE'LL DO. I AM GOING TO TALK, AND YOU ARE GOING TO LISTEN TO ME. UNDERSTOOD?”

“Sure, mom,” you drawled.

“NO!!” he exclaimed suddenly, and you let your head loll forward to hide your smirk, “I AM NOT YOUR MOTHER! LISTEN, HUMAN, HERE IS WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN–”

“Okay, dad.”

“NO! STOP IT! STOP!” he seemed to speed up his pace, “I SHOULD JUST QUESTION YOU AND THEN CONTACT UNDYNE! SHE'S ON DUTY, NOT ME, I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH A DRUNK HUMAN IN THE PARK, OF ALL THINGS. IT'S MY NIGHT OFF!”

“Calm down, brose–”

“DID YOU DRIVE HERE TONIGHT, HUMAN?” he asked abruptly, cutting you off, and you hummed noncommittally instead of answering. He waited a few beats, then scoffed. “YOU DID!” he said accusingly. You made a sheepish sort of noise. “OH MY GOD, YOU DID. WERE YOU PLANNING ON DRIVING HOME LIKE THIS?”

“Course not,” you mumbled.

“THEN HOW WERE YOU PLANNING ON GETTING HOME? PUBLIC TRANSPORT?” he asked insistently. After a moment, you pursed your lips, shrugging, and, “WERE YOU NOT PLANNING ON GOING HOME? ARE YOU HOMELESS?” he prompted.

“Not homeless,” you muttered through a yawn, “Sleepy an' drunk.”

“O _KAY_ ,” he said, pausing for a moment. “WERE YOU DRIVING UNDER THE INFLUENCE, OR–”

“No,” you said, glaring at your knees, “I started drinking at the park. Been laying there all night.”

“ALRIGHT,” he said, then he went on, as if incredulous, “I'M DOING YOU A FAVOR, YOU KNOW THAT, RIGHT?? I'M NOT TAKING YOU TO THE STATION OR ANYTHING. I'M CUTTING YOU A HUGE BREAK!”

“Are you letting me keep my ale?” you asked, and he huffed.

“NO. NO, I AM NOT LETTING YOU KEEP YOUR ALE.” You wailed gently, but he only hummed. “I WOULD BE THE WORST OFFICER IN THE CITY IF I JUST GAVE YOU A SLAP ON THE WRIST AND SENT YOU STUMBLING INTO THE NIGHT WITH HALF A CASE OF BEER.”

“Not the _worst_ officer...” you said, “the _coolest_ officer.”

“WELL...” he trailed off and paused for a moment, as if considering. Then, he scoffed. “NO! NO, LOSING MY JOB WOULD _NOT_ BE COOL! UNDYNE WOULD BE LIVID!”

“Your mom's livid.”

“HUMAN, PLEASE,” he sighed. “WHY ARE YOU BEING SO DIFFICULT? IT WOULD BE SO EASY FOR ME TO CONTACT UNDYNE AND DO MY JOB!”

“Then do your job,” you mumbled irritably, slumping in his arms again, “Nobody's stopping you.”

He didn't respond for a long moment, merely carrying you in silence. He shifted his weight once or twice to better carry the rest of the beer, and you cracked your eyes open to watch the trees go by at the edge of the path. Most of them still looked dead, but you could see buds here and there as you passed, scattered smatterings of them clinging to skeletal branches.

“I... I WOULD,” he said eventually, shifting his elbow against the case of beer again, “BUT... I DON'T LIKE GIVING PEOPLE A HARD TIME. I... LIKE DOING PEOPLE FAVORS.” You stayed quiet, and he hummed. “I WILL ADMIT, YOU _ARE_ TESTING MY PATIENCE. JUST A BIT. BUT IN A RASCALLY, DELINQUENT SORT OF WAY.”

“'Kay,” you murmured, shrugging, “Sorry... M'drunk.”

“IT'S ALRIGHT, I AM WELL AWARE. I AM NOT ACTUALLY UPSET.” He bounced you slightly. “CAN I ASK WHY YOU ARE DRUNK?”

“Cause I drank a bunch of alcohol,” you said, smiling in spite of yourself. He sighed and was quiet for a moment. You shrugged again, “And... I was maybe... feelin' kind of bad.”

“YES, I THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE SOMETHING LIKE THAT,” he said, his tone slightly more gentle. Understanding, even. “WHY ARE YOU AT THE PARK? DID YOU KNOW THAT PUBLIC INTOXICATION, ESPECIALLY ON STATE PROPERTY, IS ILLEGAL?”

“Yeah, I knew,” you mumbled, letting your chin sink down onto your chest. “Didn't wanna be at home, an' I like it out here. It's spring.”

“IT IS INDEED SPRING,” he said, then paused. You shifted in his arms, bringing yours up to cross over your middle as your eyes threatened to shut again. He must have noticed, because he went on, “I NEED YOU TO STAY AWAKE SO I CAN GET YOU HOME, HUMAN. DO YOU HAVE YOUR WALLET WITH YOU? SOME FORM OF IDENTIFICATION?”

“Yeah,” you said, “S'in my pocket.”

“I WILL ASK YOU TO RETRIEVE IT IN A FEW MOMENTS, THEN.” He shifted again. You heard glass clink against glass. “YOU... _ARE_ OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK, CORRECT?”

“Course I am,” you muttered. You were older than twenty-one, and you told him so, mentioning your age.

“I WILL STILL NEED TO SEE YOUR ID,” he said, and you lifted your shoulders dismissively. “IT IS NOT THAT I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! IT IS JUST ME DOING MY JOB. WELL– _PART_ OF MY JOB... YOU UNDERSTAND, RIGHT?”

“I understand,” you mumbled into your shirt. He bounced you gently again, and you forced your eyes back open, yawning. “Hey, you got a badge, officer?” you went on sleepily.

“YES,” he said, “WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE IT?”

“Yiss,” you said in a high-pitched voice. He stopped walking, shifting to hold you with one arm. You had to bend inward again slightly, and it was uncomfortable, but you waited patiently when he fumbled with the case of beer.

“HOLD THIS FOR A MOMENT,” he said absently, settling in in your lap. You grabbed it eagerly.

“Absolutely–”

“DON'T!” An accusing finger entered your bleary line of sight, and you tilted your head back to look at him through slitted eyes. He was staring down at you sternly, “DON'T. PLEASE. I AM TRUSTING YOU, HUMAN.”

You frowned, but crossed your arms and leaned back, gazing up at his face while he fished around in his pocket. He pulled out a wallet-like object and let it fall open, a shiny badge twinkling at you in the moonlight. You reached out to touch it, and he let you take it to inspect it, 'ooo'-ing appreciatively as you did. Across the silver shield were the words, risen slightly over the metal;

“Officer Papyrus,” you read carefully, eyes gliding over his badge number, “Monster Ebott City Police Department – Royal Guard Division.” You glanced up and saw him nod, then you glanced down at the badge again, expression neutral. After a moment, you spoke up, “ _Meck P.D_.”

“YES,” he said, reaching to take it away from you again. You let him. “ _MECK_ P.D.”

“Alright,” you closed your eyes again, sighing as he tucked his badge away. You held the case of ale loosely on your lap, and he didn't take it back when he shifted to hold you more comfortably again. “You're a real cops police, then, huh?”

“YES, THAT'S ME,” he said, and you chuckled. “I'M ALL ABOUT THAT LIFE.”


	2. A pocket full of bottle caps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “NO, NO! NO TOILETS OR SINKS OR TUBS OUT HERE IN THE HALL FOR YOU TO VOMIT HORRIBLY IN! COME ON, HUMAN, UP, UP!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the response to this story has been?? amazing, thank you so much. it made it hard to sit on this chapter instead of just posting it right away, but i don't want to use up my buffer all at once, lol.
> 
> anyway, here's some impromptu exposition to start. i hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Rather than separate and function as two independent countries, as it had seemed humans had been trying to do (not wanting to step on any royal toes), monsters had insisted on becoming citizens and completely integrating into human society. For instance–

Queen Toriel was still a queen, and her subjects would still answer to her if the need ever arose, just as King Asgore was still a king. She and Asgore still had as much authority as the President himself, who had deigned to meet with them on several occasions, but after the political storm had calmed down, Toriel had taken to teaching students, and Asgore had become more interested in gardening than running a kingdom. Neither of them had wanted to reclaim the land that had been taken from them in the war. All they wanted was peace.

The humans had not even dreamed of arguing.

A year after The Barrier had been broken, and monsters freed from the Underground, the Royal Guard had been reinstated by King Asgore Dreemurr, after months and months of meetings with the Queen and all of their royal advisers. Queen Toriel made her stance on the Royal Guard very clear after monsters had slowly begun integrating into human society– she believed it was unnecessary and impractical because the jurisdiction was so small. After all, monsters had only been given the mountain to populate at first, though monster districts had began sprouting up all over the area outside of Ebott City not long after their capitol, Final Home, had been established near its peak. Many monsters did not want to live on the mountain, and so more land had been given to them in order to maintain peace (although it was not necessary. None of the monsters wanted war. Not anymore). It still wasn't very much, and it was another year before monsters were allowed to live among humans freely, but it was enough to sway Queen Toriel's opinion regarding a balance of protection.

In the interest of monster-human relations, the King and Queen had negotiated a merger of the Royal Guard and the human police. The Monster Ebott City Police Department – Royal Guard Division was born, a completely separate department from the human division, but with the same jurisdiction and responsibilities. Monsters could oversee humans both in and around Ebott City, just as humans could now do the same with monsters. When it came to serious issues, like manslaughter or things of the like, the case was usually shunted to the other department, depending on the victim. Although, this happened to be entirely one-sided, and only on the human end. Monsters just did not kill other monsters. Cases of human-monster violence were not as common anymore, thankfully, but when they did happen, it was a tense situation on both sides, handled by both departments.

Undyne had naturally been appointed as the Captain of the Royal Guard Division (or, the RGD), and had hand-picked her officers from the ranks of the previous Royal Guard, first. Papyrus had applied, of course, and after a rigorous training montage (and the fact that they were no longer fighting to kill humans and claim their souls– in fact, quite the opposite. They were now fighting to do nothing but protect, and lethal force was, of course, prohibited unless necessary), Undyne had admitted him as a Cadet, and she herself had overseen his training period. She may have trained him for a little longer than necessary, slightly reluctant to let him patrol on his own. The job would still be very dangerous, after all. Eventually, however, she had to let him graduate to Officer. They would still occasionally patrol together, mostly through her prompting, although they would just as often patrol alone.

Tonight had been Papyrus' night off. He very rarely took nights off, and at first he never had, but Undyne insisted that he had one every other week, at the _very least_. She had tried, at first, to give him _two_ days off, and _weekly_ , but Papyrus had haggled her down to something that was, in his opinion, far more reasonable. After all, Papyrus rarely needed to sleep, and even when he did he only really needed a few hours, at most. What better way to spend his time then by keeping the citizens of Ebott safe?

It didn't help that when he was idle, he was overcome by this unbearable, inescapable itching, itching, _itching_ , crawling all over his bones and practically screaming at him to do something. _Any_ thing. He could not stand doing nothing for too long, could not sit still for longer than it took to watch an hour (sometimes two, if it was a good day) of Mettaton. If he was conscious, Papyrus was moving, or at the very least, his hands and mind were occupied.

His thoughts were another thing. He did not like to sit and think for long about anything if it wasn't a puzzle. And if he had nothing to distract himself, what else was he supposed to _do_ but think? He had an easier time organizing his thoughts when he was moving, pacing, or jogging to keep himself busy, but he much preferred thoughtless sparring with Undyne or some other member of the RGD, lest he be left alone with himself for too long.

Papyrus did not dislike himself. He _didn't_. Sometimes, however, troubling thoughts crept into his mind, and they did so with such frequency that they were difficult to ignore, and he had his _doubts_. A quick word with his brother was usually enough to quell them, but Sans was not always available– even though he _was_ , and Papyrus knew this. He couldn't bother him twenty-four-seven, however, and he didn't want to bother him at all, if he could help it.

It _wasn't_ a bother, though. Papyrus _knew_ this.

At the same time, however... those thoughts were always there, ready to creep in and strike the moment he stopped paying attention to anything else, the moment he let his guard down.

So, because tonight was his mandatory night off, Papyrus had been jogging for six hours straight. He had started in the evening, having finished a sparring session with Greater Dog, and had just... kept going, jogging laps and laps around the park, but never straying out to the mountain and up the path that might actually take him to Final Home.

He and his brother lived in _Ebott City_ , now, and they only went to Final Home to visit Frisk and Toriel. Sans didn't like trekking up the mountain to visit, although he rarely made the trip by foot, like Papyrus. He simply warped space and time to get there instantly like the lazy sack of bones he was, while Papyrus jogged like a good, honest monster who cared about his health.

Not that Sans was any _less_ healthy without jogging. Monsters didn't really need to exercise, after all, since their strength came from magic, and whether or not they were physically fit was besides the point. Papyrus only did it because it was something to do, and training kept his reflexes sharp.

It was the same way with his condemnation of grease– it really didn't _matter_ that Sans ate grease, and the stuff in Grillby's food wasn't even real grease, per say, but more of a... _magic by-product_ that _resembled_ grease. It had the same difference, though, and by extension, the same name. Besides– Sans and Papyrus did not have arteries to clog if it _were_ real grease. He simply did not like the feel of it on his teeth, or the way it soaked into his gloves and clung there even after he had washed them several times.

He would have rather driven up the mountain, because he _loved_ to drive, but there were no roads on Mount Ebott– none that he could traverse with his fancy red convertible, anyway. All of the roads were dirt, and since most monsters didn't know how to drive, the roads in Final-Home-proper were small and close, and while some were wide enough to _maybe_ accommodate one car at a time, if you believed hard enough, nobody actually drove there. Everybody walked, or they biked, or they flew because they had wings and weren't confined by the stifling shackles of gravity like the lesser, earth-bound folk.

It was a little like going back Underground, visiting Final Home– like stepping back in time a few years and staying in the Capitol, despite the fact that everything was a lot greener and brighter, and the sun or moon was always visible in the sky (weather permitting). Sans didn't like _that_ , either, feeling like he was back Underground. Whenever they stayed there, he fell asleep outside about as often as he fell asleep in a pile of blankets on Toriel's living room floor. Papyrus usually stayed outside with him, just sort of carrying him around and keeping an eye on him while he worked on Toriel's garden or simply jogged around the property under the guise of patrolling. Sans never woke up until the sun peaked up over the horizon, no matter what Papyrus was doing, and by then Papyrus had already set him back where he'd found him, with Sans none the wiser.

Even though he _was_. Papyrus knew this.

Papyrus knew a lot of things that he kept secret from himself, locked away in his mind to be carefully tip-toed around like shards of glass. Ignorance was bliss, as humans would say, and in his opinion, so was denial. He was much happier vehemently ignoring the things he didn't want to know than actually acknowledge them, and everybody else was accommodating, because everybody else knew him. Or, at least, the monsters did.

Not that he had many human friends, beyond the other officers he would see on patrol. They were in separate departments, sure, but it did not change the fact that they patrolled the same streets and ate the same spider-infested donuts.

Or... maybe it did. In the case of the latter.

Still.

Papyrus had not been planning on stopping his jog any time soon, and he had in fact packed his uniform in his car so he could simply drive straight to work after the twenty-four-hour period was over. When he had spotted you, laying flat on your back in the grass and motionless, he had of course stopped to check on you, and he would have checked on you even if he _weren't_ bound by his oath to protect both humans and monsters alike. He hadn't been planning on making an arrest tonight, either, though he almost had when he had seen the case of human alcohol next to you, with nearly half of the bottles open and, presumably, empty.

He was adamant that he _wouldn't_ , however. Not for something harmless like this.

In front of his co-workers, Papyrus was a model officer, one who would never _dream_ of cutting someone a break!

To be honest, though, he could make all the threats he liked, but at the end of the day, Papyrus didn't really... _like_ arresting people. Not even when they deserved it, sometimes. He couldn't imagine himself doing anything else, however, now that he had been working in the RGD for over five years. He just couldn't stop wondering what Undyne would say if he quit, even though he knew she would eventually support him, just like she always had. His brother would support him too, this he was _positive_ of, but there was still this nagging feeling at the back of his mind that told him he would be letting everyone down. He had dreamed of this for so long, had pestered Undyne for days in the Underground just to be allowed to train with her, and he had worked _so hard_ to get here!

The very _last_ thing he wanted to be was a disappointment.

He carried you back to his fancy red convertible now, while you struggled to stay awake in his arms. You were sleepy and drunk, and a sort of melancholic air hung around you like an aura, punctuating almost every statement and movement. He had sensed it right away upon approaching you, and it was another thing, beyond your apparent harmlessness, that had kept him from reading you your rights, questioning you, and then detaining you until Undyne, or some other officer, could come and provide transport.

Conversation had dwindled to minor noises and grunts on your end as you slipped further towards the embrace of sleep. He would jostle you every now and then to keep you awake, worried that you might pass out and that he would be unable to wake you when the time came to drive you home, and he kept up an almost constant stream of chatter, asking you questions that you had already answered, as if he were going to trip you up, somehow. It was... an unfortunate habit he had picked up from his job, and even if you _had_ messed up in your answers, you were half-asleep and so inebriated that he wouldn't have held it against you. As you were, you didn't even seem to realize that he was asking you the same string of questions over and over.

“WE'RE HERE!” he announced as he approached his car, parked in one of the many small lots sprinkled throughout the park. His was the only car here at this hour, the black top up and the bright paint job gleaming in the moonlight. He loved this car. He would marry this car, if it could hold a better conversation.

“Mmngh,” you grumbled incoherently, and he fumbled for his keys, hitting the unlock button on his key fob.

“YES, I KNOW. YOU'RE SPEECHLESS,” he said, only half-pretending to sigh wistfully as he gazed at his lovely red convertible. “ITS BEAUTY TRULY DEFIES WORDS. HOW LUCKY YOU ARE, HUMAN, THAT YOU GET TO RIDE IN THIS MAGNIFICENT CONTRAPTION. HOWEVER! WOE IS YOU, WHO ONLY GETS TO EXPERIENCE THIS _ONCE_ , AND WHILE YOU ARE HALF-ASLEEP AND INCOHERENT, AT THAT!”

“Mngrm,” you commented, unnecessarily, for he could tell already how much you were in awe of his vehicle.

“YES, YES,” he said as he leaned down to open the passenger seat, then gingerly set you down inside as he went on, the case of ale settled in your lap, “IT IS A TRAGEDY. TELL ME, HUMAN, WHERE MIGHT I FIND YOUR IDENTIFICATION?”

“Mmpock't,” you said, for possibly the sixth time that night. You didn't specify _which_ pocket, and so he assumed your wallet was in your hoodie, and resolved to check there, first. He sighed as he fastened your seat belt.

“I WILL BE REACHING INTO YOUR HOODIE POCKET NOW,” he said, snapping his fingers in front of your nose. You scrunched your face up in a very frustrated, yet endearing, way, half-lifting your hand from your side as if to swat at his fingers, then giving up and letting it plop back down. “I WILL NOT BE TAKING ANYTHING BUT YOUR WALLET, AND I WILL BE REPLACING IT BACK ON YOUR PERSON AFTER I SEE YOUR ID. UNDERSTAND?”

You made a sound that was half between a snore and a grunt. He snapped his fingers again, and this time you rolled your head away, your brows furrowing again as you groaned.

“YES, YOU WILL BE ALLOWED TO HAVE YOUR LONG NAP AFTER YOU ARE SAFELY ENSCONCED IN YOUR OWN HOME,” he said in a faux-reassuring tone as he snapped his fingers again, “DO I HAVE YOUR PERMISSION TO SEARCH YOUR POCKETS?”

“Mm'kay,” you said, and he reached out to do just that.

He really hadn't expected to plunge his hand into a pocket full of bottle caps. The jangling almost made him jump as he withdrew his hand immediately with a surprised exclamation, dislodging a few to fall to the ground.

“OH, SHOOT,” he bent down to retrieve them, squinting against the low light. The Underground had been dark in some places, sure, but Snowdin had always been blindingly white, and this had made it much easier to see in the dark. “SORRY. I APPEAR TO HAVE LOOSED A FEW OF YOUR ROUND, ALUMINUM PRISONERS. I WILL REPLACE THEM POSTHASTE,” he joked, more for himself than you, as he wasn't sure you were even listening at this point. You gave a small 'snrk' anyway, and he grinned as he plucked the bottle caps up off the ground, faintly pleased with himself as he placed them back in your pocket and made to search the other.

Ah, and there was your wallet. He flipped it open and found your ID, then let his eye sockets skim over the information, immediately and unintentionally memorizing it, as he did with most things that he read. Your ID number, your name, your age, your birthday, your weight, and your address. He read them once, then could easily recall them moments later when he snapped your wallet shut and tucked it away safely in your pocket.

“ALRIGHT!” he said loudly, as if making an announcement. You frowned deeply with your eyes shut, turning your head in his direction as he forced himself not to laugh, “WE WILL BEGIN OUR JOURNEY, NOW! ER– HUMAN...” he hesitated, suddenly recalling that you had driven yourself here. He knew where your apartment was, and he knew how to get to the street from here, just as he knew how to navigate this city back-to-front, like the bones of his hand.

It was... a bit of a drive. It would take him almost thirty minutes to get there by car, if traffic conditions were favorable. And for the average human, the nearest bus stop took about as long to walk to from here.

Then again, perhaps this question was one for sober-you. You would likely forget his offer in the morning, and then be left confused and inconvenienced anyway as you realized that you were without a vehicle.

“NEVER MIND,” he said, and you tilted your head away, though it was unclear if it was in response to his statement, or simply because you were almost asleep. He stood up and closed the passenger side door, then made his way over to the driver's side. “I WILL SIMPLY LEAVE YOU A NOTE, FOR WHEN YOU WAKE UP,” he continued as he climbed in and buckled his seat belt, “THAT WAY YOU WILL BE ABLE TO CONTACT ME, OR AT THE VERY LEAST KNOW WHERE TO RETRIEVE YOUR VEHICLE! WHEREVER IT MAY BE IN THIS LABIRYNTH OF A PARK.”

You didn't respond at all this time, slumped over in your seat with your eyes closed, but that was just as well to him. He lifted the half-empty case of ale from your lap and settled it onto the floor of the back seat, lapsing into a focused silence as he started his car and navigated out of the park, then onto the city streets and headed for your apartment building.

It took him a little more than thirty minutes to get there, just as he predicted, but when he had (flawlessly) parallel parked outside, he hesitated to wake you. Would you even make it through the lobby to the elevator? It was a very large building, and he had no idea which floor you were on, but perhaps he could carry you again?

“HUMAN.” He nudged you a few times with one gloved hand, and you stirred, looking immediately disgruntled. He could not help but chuckle. “HUMAN, WE ARE AT YOUR APARTMENT BUILDING. CAN YOU WALK?”

You turned your head farther in his direction, frowning and furrowing your brows.

“Hmmn?” you asked, your tone perhaps the slightest bit aggressive in your delirious state. He chuckled again.

“YOU ARE OUTSIDE YOUR APARTMENT, IN MY INCREDIBLE CAR,” he said loudly, nudging you once more, “YOU NEED TO GO HOME, NOW.”

“Oh,” you said in a low voice, almost a groan. He felt a twinge of sympathy for you as you reached down to clumsily undo your seat belt, because ah, that's right– you didn't _want_ to go home. You had said that earlier, back when you were awake enough to speak full sentences.

“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO ESCORT YOU TO YOUR FLOOR?” he offered carefully, his soul pulsing with empathy as he frowned at you. You seemed to hesitate as you squinted at your seat belt, watching it crawl up your chest as it was pulled back behind the seat. “TO MAKE SURE YOU DO NOT FALL?”

“Mn-sure,” you muttered through a yawn, rubbing at one bleary eye. He unbuckled his own seat belt and climbed out, coming around to open your door for you, since it seemed you were having trouble with the handle. “Thanks,” you murmured as you stood on wobbly legs, still squinting as if trying desperately not to fall asleep.

“OF COURSE,” he said, grinning and guiding you to the doors. You paused for a moment, as if confused, and then let out a tiny 'oh!' as you began reaching around for your keys, patting your pockets in a disoriented fashion. It further endeared you to him, despite the fact that you were still drunk.

“Got'em,” you muttered, your tone the ghost of triumphant. You tried twice to unlock the front doors before you succeeded with his help, and then he walked you into the building.

He rode the elevator with you, watching as you puzzled over the buttons for almost a full minute before the doors had dinged shut and the elevator started moving on its own.

“Whoa!” you cried as you stumbled, glassy eyes flying wide open as you clung both to his offered arm and the wall, “Whoa! What's happenin'??”

“NYEH HEH HEH, SOMEONE SUMMONED THE ELEVATOR,” he said through a laugh. “WHICH FLOOR IS YOURS? I WILL PUSH THE BUTTON FOR YOU.”

“Seven,” you mumbled, slumping towards the wall and letting go of his arm. He pressed the button and the two of you waited. Whoever had hit the call button was on a higher floor, and the doors dinged open for you first, thankfully. Papyrus was becoming a little nervous with the way you were clutching your mouth and stomach.

“HERE WE ARE!” he cried nervously when the doors opened, guiding you quickly into the hall, and, “THIS IS FLOOR SEVEN!” he went on urgently as you slid down the wall slightly, your eyes scrunched shut against what was no doubt roiling nausea. He nudged you, urging you to straighten up. “NO, NO! NO TOILETS OR SINKS OR TUBS OUT HERE IN THE HALL FOR YOU TO VOMIT HORRIBLY IN! COME ON, HUMAN, UP, UP!” he exclaimed, and you leaned toward him, letting him support your weight. He made a high, anxious noise as he held you up, glancing around as if seeking help from the closed doors or the speckled carpet.

“S'room... urgh...” you took a deep breath, then stood up on your own, blinking against the lights and squinting down the hall, “Room... four...” you murmured, and he nodded, helping your down the hall.

You once again fumbled with your keys when you got there, and he had to help you unlock the door again, breathing a sigh of relief once you were inside, your keys tucked safely in your pocket. He hesitated in the hall, watching as you stumbled into the slightly messy space, feeling around as if for a switch. You had left the door wide open, as if you had expected him to just follow you in, and he waited there with his hand on the door knob while you wandered over to the kitchen and seemed to find a light switch there. The room was plunged suddenly in light, and both of you winced as your sight adjusted, though you more violently than him. You sighed, meandering over to sink down into your couch.

He waited, as if for a dismissal, but it almost seemed like you had forgotten he was there.

“ER... WELL, ALRIGHT!” he said, and you turned your head in his direction, once again furrowing your brows. He reached around to lock the door knob, since it didn't seem like you would be able to, “I'LL JUST BE GOING, NOW! BE SURE TO DRINK PLENTY OF WATER, I–” he remembered that he had meant to leave you a note, but ground his teeth for a moment.

Would it really be so bad if he texted you instead? You had not given him your number, but it would not be hard to find on his own, and much easier than asking you, in your state, for a pen and paper. He did not really want to come in, either, because (apart from the fact that he was a stranger) the moment he walked into this mess of an apartment, he would be overwhelmed by the urge to clean everything, and he was pretty sure that was impolite among strangers.

“I WILL TEXT YOU IN THE MORNING ABOUT YOUR VEHICLE!” he announced, deciding that it was technically police business, wasn't it? It would make sense for him to follow-up about your car. “SO YOU ARE NOT CONFUSED ABOUT ITS WHERABOUTS!”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, surprising him. He hadn't thought you were conscious anymore. Papyrus grinned, already closing the door on your sleepy form.

“IT IS NO PROBLEM AT ALL!” he said, “GOOD NIGHT, AND HAVE A FITFUL REST!”

You mumbled something else in response, but he did not pause to check what it was as he closed the door and heard it latch.


	3. An impossible endeavor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT I AM KIDDING, OF COURSE!! BRIBERY IS ALSO VERY ILLEGAL!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish i could have uploaded this sooner, but i didn't have a way to connect my laptop to the internet.  
> anyway, this is a short chapter, but on the bright side, it marks the end of the beginning! things will pick up in chapter four, which will go up either tomorrow, or in the next few days.  
> i hope everyone enjoys this! i'm also changing the title scheme for the chapters, because i was having trouble with the 'in which [x]' titles, for some reason.  
> thanks for reading!!

When you woke up next, it was to a startlingly loud alarm that was blaring what used to be your favorite song. It was set to get louder and louder the longer you ignored it, so you groaned, sitting up a little straighter on the couch. You groped around blindly for your phone, your eyes still stuck shut with sleep. Apparently, it was still in your pocket, but you didn't realize this at first.

You had passed out right where you'd sat yourself down last night, and slumped further into the cushions while you slept. As a result, you had a pretty bad crick in your neck, and the taste of ale clung to the inside of your mouth, stale and acrid in the morning. You sucked at your teeth absently as you found your phone and aggressively silenced your alarm, wiping the sleep from your eyes as you contemplated a toothbrush and toothpaste, then slumped back against the warm cushions instead of getting up. You had seen a few notifications on your lock screen, but you tossed your phone aside anyway, not even checking what they were as you continued your groggy journey towards consciousness.

You remembered most of what happened last night. You weren't actually _that_ drunk, not drunk enough to forget the whole thing, anyway, though the details might escape you. That was beyond normal for you, though, drunk or not. You were pretty sure it was normal for most people.

Surprisingly, you weren't actually that embarrassed, either. You hadn't really said or done anything that was all that bad, besides maybe behaving like a petulant child. You'd done much worse in the past, and the strange monster had been more than accommodating to your shitty attitude, even going so far as to make sure you made it all the way into your apartment safely. You stood on wobbly legs and crossed the room to the front door, checked the handle.

He'd even locked the door behind him, which was... surprisingly considerate. It was much more than you expected, anyway. In an act of good faith, you decided to forgive him for taking the rest of your ale away. (All things considered, you supposed you were lucky he'd only done that. If you'd met a human cop last night, or even just anybody else, you have no doubt that things could have gone _very_ differently.)

Unfortunately, you couldn't seem to recall his name. That was one of the details that had slipped through the cracks, though you did remember inspecting a badge last night, as he carried you through the park to his car. You didn't exactly remember what his car looked like, either, beyond the fact that it was red. To be fair, however, you had been half asleep by the time he'd made it there. Most of the ride home was a fuzzy blur.

You trudged next to the bathroom, mechanically going through the motions of getting yourself cleaned up. You smelled like alcohol, your clothes were a mess, and there was mud in your hair, dried dirt on your face and even caked onto one ear. You needed a shower, and after that, you brushed your teeth thoroughly, tossing your clothes unceremoniously to the floor in a messy pile. It added to the clothes that were already waiting there to be washed, and you studiously ignored the mound, as well as the others that were peppered around the floor of your room. It wasn't laundry day yet, you reasoned with yourself as you tossed your jingling hoodie onto your bed and rummaged around in your clean clothes pile for your work uniform.

Though, the last time it _had_ been laundry day, you hadn't been able to scrape up enough energy to actually _do_ any laundry.

Still.

You snagged your hoodie when you'd finished changing, absently scooping the bottle caps up and out of your pocket as you made your way back into the living room, then to The Jar of Caps, situated on top of the bookshelf next to the TV. You counted eleven caps as you let them fall in, filling it up almost to the brim.

A vague thought about getting a new jar flitted through your mind as you shrugged your dirty hoodie back on and grabbed your phone from the couch, then headed to the kitchen. So far, you only had two jars of caps, and you didn't know _why_ you were collecting them, you just... were. You saved every glass jam jar you bought, because you just couldn't bring yourself to throw them away, and you didn't have anything _else_ to put in them. At least they were getting some use.

A glance at the time told you that you still had about a half hour left to get ready– you usually gave yourself enough time to shower and clean yourself up, even if you decided not to. You had a few new emails, some app notifications, but also a few messages from an unknown number. Frowning as you entered the kitchen, you leaned against the counter next to your shitty, broken refrigerator (and also your wonderful, yet inefficient mini fridge) and unlocked your phone. You had an idea of who this might be just from context clues, but you weren't actually sure how he'd gotten your number.

Then again– he _was_ the cops. They had records on everybody, didn't they? Or maybe you'd given your number to him and just didn't remember it.

In any case, you probably wouldn't bother asking. You had a feeling that you already knew the answer.

> **Unknown Number  
> ** HELLO, DRUNK HUMAN FROM THE PARK! BY THE TIME YOU'RE READING THIS, YOU SHOULD HAVE COMPLETELY SOBERED UP, AND YOU ARE MOST LIKELY WONDERING WHO I AM! WELL, IT IS I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS (AND ALSO THE GREAT OFFICER THAT YOU MET LAST NIGHT WHO SPIRITED YOU AWAY IN HIS SHINY, VERY NICE CONVERTABLE). NYEH HEH HEH!  
>  OR, RATHER, I AM THE ONE WHO DROVE YOU HOME AND CONFISCATED YOUR ALCOHOL.  
>  I HOPE IT IS ALRIGHT THAT I AM TEXTING YOU! I AQUIRED YOUR NUMBER LAST NIGHT AND THOUGHT THAT IT WOULD BE EASIER TO INFORM YOU THIS WAY THAT YOUR VEHICLE IS STILL AT THE PARK, AND ALSO TO OFFER YOU A RIDE BACK TODAY TO RETRIEVE IT.  
>  IF YOU WOULD LIKE THE RIDE (OR, IF YOU WOULDN'T), YOU CAN TEXT ME BACK AT ANY TIME.

Oof, that was a lot of capitals. You didn't think you'd ever met anyone who actually typed in all caps like this, but monsters had all kinds of odd idiosyncrasies. You saved his number in your phone under ' _Officer Papyrus_ ', then contemplated his offer for a moment.

To be honest, you had actually... forgotten all about your bike, and you were thankful for the reminder, but you still needed to leave in about twenty minutes if you wanted to get to work on time. You didn't know the bus routes in this city, since you hadn't ridden the bus in years, not since you'd bought your motorcycle. It had been an ostentatious and spontaneous purchase, one that you regretted come winter every year, but you'd grown rather attached to it over time. You couldn't deny how free it made you feel when you rode it. Almost like you were flying, sometimes. Especially when you drove on the express way.

Regardless of whether he drove you to the park or not, you were going to be late, and even though he was offering to drive you all the way across town, you weren't sure you wanted to bother him for a ride to work. You chewed your lip. Bell's Market, the store where you worked, was only a fifteen minute ride on your bike, but on foot it would take you way longer. Especially considering you didn't really exercise that much.

Also considering that you _really_ didn't want to walk there.

With a sigh, you dialed work and called off for the day. (If you were being honest with yourself, you just didn't want to go in today, and this was as good an excuse as any.) Your manager was less than pleased at the short notice, but he relented. It's not like he could do anything about it, anyway. After you hung up, you quickly composed a text to Papyrus.

> **(123)456-7890  
>  **Thank you, i'm really sorry about last night. I hope you drink the rest of that ale, or at lease give it to somebody else (me???) if you don't drink. Don't just dump it out, okay?? Anyway, thanks for the offer, but i can just take the bus to the park.
> 
> **Officer Papyrus  
> ** I DON'T THINK I SHOULD GIVE IT BACK, SINCE I CONFISCATED IT? I AM PRETTY SURE IT IS MINE NOW, EXPECIALLY SINCE I DID NOT EVEN ARREST YOU FOR PUBLIC INTOXICATION! (I WANT TO EMPHASIZE THAT I AM KIDDING, OF COURSE!! BRIBERY IS ALSO VERY ILLEGAL!!)  
>  AS FOR MY OFFER, DO NOT WORRY! I THOUGHT THAT I SHOULD ASK, THOUGH I SUSPECTED YOU MIGHT SAY NO. IF YOU CHANGE YOUR MIND, HOWEVER, I AM ONLY A TEXT AWAY!
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
> ** Okay, i probably won't, though, since i'm leaving like right now. Also, thanks again. For, you know, everything.  
>  Please drink the ale.
> 
> **Officer Papyrus  
> ** I WILL CONSIDER DRINKING THE ALE. FOR NOW, IT IS TUCKED SAFELY AWAY IN MY CAR!  
>  AND YOU ARE WELCOME.
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **Okay, well just don't throw it away?
> 
> **Officer Papyrus  
>  **I WILL CONSIDER NOT THROWING IT AWAY.

 

→

 

You weren't feeling like yourself again until you were flying down the freeway on your motorcycle, taking a drive just for the sake of it. The wind whipped against your helmet, which had, miraculously, still been inside the unlocked saddle bags of your bike this morning, despite the fact you'd left both unattended for the entire night. The park was just in a good part of town, you supposed. That, or you'd parked in such an out-of-the-way area that nobody had even seen your motorcycle to begin with. After all, nobody else had been parked there this morning, either.

In retrospect, you weren't really sure what you planned on doing about your bike when you drove out to Ebott Park. Nothing, apparently. You had originally intended on going home and drinking the ale there, but the early-evening air had just smelled so _nice_ , and the idea of going back to that stuffy, dark apartment had been... less than ideal.

You hadn't really thought about it, you'd just started driving. And you'd ended up in a place you'd stopped visiting years ago. You don't even remember why you stopped going; eventually trips out this far had just seemed like too much effort, and even though you found yourself wanting to go some days, just to see if everything was still the same, you hadn't. There were no bad memories associated with the park, there were no complicated reasons for your visits to stop.

They just had.

Eventually, trips anywhere at all had seemed almost like an impossible endeavor. You'd been going to work, coming home, sleeping, then rinsing and repeating for years, and you spared very little time for the hobbies you used to find entertaining.

The most you did anymore when you were inside that cage of an apartment was stare at the wall, or the ceiling, and drink. Or eat, if you were feeling up to it. The television just felt like too much noise, and even music grated on you, sometimes, irritating you to the point where you rarely bothered to listen. Most nights, you ended up just listening to the sounds of the neighborhood while you nursed a drink and lounged. As if in your stead, your neighbors sometimes played music, and, distant and muffled as it was by the wall, you usually found it tolerable.

Annoying, but tolerable. It was a welcome background noise, unlike the traffic outside and the ringing in your ears.

Driving was always a welcome distraction. If you weren't working and you weren't at home, you were usually on your motorcycle. Out here, it didn't matter if you had somewhere you needed to go, didn't matter how much gas it was costing you, didn't even matter that traffic got so backed up that it had you sitting in place for hours at a time, some days. Driving made you feel like you were _going_ somewhere, like you were _heading_ towards something. It made you feel good, and it was one of the only things these days that did.

So you drove.

Seeing as you had an impromptu day off now, you were going to spend today riding around, too. Maybe you'd take a trip down to Shoreline and sit on the beach. Maybe you'd go see the pier in Shell's Hollow, or maybe you'd go back to Ebott Park.

More than likely, though, you'd end up just driving aimlessly until you eventually decided to head back home and sleep.

After you picked up something to drink, that is.

 


	4. Tiny bottle after tiny bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "BELIEVE ME, I WOULD MUCH RATHER BE TALKING TO YOU THAN... WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS I AM DOING RIGHT NOW.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **big warning** for Implied Binge Drinking, Implied Drunk Driving, and Self-Destructive Behavior. i'll probably update the story tags soon
> 
> the drunk driving is only in passing, and it's very Implied. "buzzed driving is drunk driving." drunk/buzzed driving is not cool or charming. reader doesn't think it is, or anything, they just. have a problem. i don't go into detail, but i'm not trying to downplay it, or anything. i just wanted to add a disclaimer
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!

You were surprised to get a call from Papyrus two days later.

It was your first day off of the week, aside from the day you'd called off, and it was much earlier than you were used to waking up, at eight A.M. You'd left the window in the living room open last night, to let in the cool night air, but now all you could smell was exhaust and pot. Groggily, you had risen from sleep on the couch where you had been sprawled out with a thin sheet, your laptop on the coffee table. It had taken you three rings to register that someone was calling, see who it was, and answer, but you'd managed to catch it before it went to voicemail.

“HELLO, DRUNK HUMAN FROM THE PARK!” he all but shouted into your ear, and you had to yank the phone away from your head. You held it a few inches away while he talked, still cringing from his initial volume. “I WAS JUST CALLING TO FOLLOW UP WITH YOU AND SEE HOW YOU'RE DOING! DID YOU COLLECT YOUR CAR?”

“Uh... yeah. Yes. I mean. It's not a car, but– yeah,” you replied sleepily, still scrubbing at your eyes as you laid back down. You were determined not to talk for too long; it was way too early for you to be awake on a day off. “It's a motorcycle. I picked it up that same day.”

“OH, I SEE!” he seemed excited at the idea, despite his next words, “I HAVE NEVER RIDDEN ON A MOTORCYCLE! AND I NEVER WILL! THEY STRIKE ME AS DEVICES DESIGNED TO SEND HUMANS CAREENING TO AN EARLY GRAVE AS THEY SKID HELPLESSLY ACROSS THE HARD CONCRETE, MANGLED UNRECOGNIZABLY FROM THEIR PREVIOUS STATE! I HOPE YOU WEAR A FULL FACE HELMET!”

“I... I do,” you said slowly, squinting at the ceiling. He hummed.

“THEN YOU HAVE AN IOTA MORE SENSE THAN SOME OF THE HUMANS I HAVE... SEEN,” he hesitated, trailing off as his tone turned slightly uncertain. You cringed, making a sympathetic sound, and he went on, “ANYWAY! WORK TALK ASIDE, HOW ARE YOU DOING?”

“Um... fine. Officer,” you tacked on his title as an afterthought, suppressing a yawn, “Tired. How are you?”

“I'M FANTASTIC!” he exclaimed, “I SUPPOSE IT _IS_ RATHER EARLY, THOUGH, ISN'T IT. I HOPE IT IS ALRIGHT THAT I CALLED.”

“It's– yeah,” you said, already closing your eyes again, “It's fine. I can still get back to sleep.” He hummed disapprovingly.

“I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND THIS MASS FASCINATION WITH LAZINESS,” he sighed, his tone almost chiding. “IT SEEMS THAT EVERYWHERE I GO, EVERYONE IS NAPPING ALL NIGHT AND ALL DAY. IT IS A NASTY HABIT, BUT I BELIEVE IN YOU, HUMAN! YOU CAN CURB YOUR OBSESSION WITH NAPS, GIVEN PROPER TIME AND MOTIVATION!”

“That–” you hesitated, your jaw closing with an almost audible click. “Right? Okay. I'll, uh... do my best.”

“OF COURSE! I HAVE THE UPMOST CONFIDENCE IN YOU!” he went on brightly, “BUT FOR NOW, I WILL HAVE TO SAY GOODBYE, BECAUSE MY SHIFT HAS STARTED. GOOD LUCK WITH BREAKFAST!”

And with that, he hung up, not even waiting for your response.

You grumbled, locking your phone and tossing it away as you curled back into the couch. It took you about an hour to fall asleep again, and you didn't wake up until one in the afternoon.

 

→

 

You didn't normally drink coffee, but you didn't normally go outside before noon, either.

You were leaning against your motorcycle, half-sitting as you lingered in the parking lot of Dunkin' Donuts. You were positioned so you could see the street in the early morning light, watching the cars that piled up at the intersection. Everything was still dyed in blue, the sun having just barely risen behind the city skyline, and the morning commute was only just beginning. Someone was walking a collie across the street, a cream-colored rabbit monster was walking by on their phone, dragging along a smaller rabbit with white fur. Humans and monsters alike were filing in and out of the shop, and almost all of them were leaving with only a coffee.

You hadn't slept. You weren't even sure what you were drinking.

Vaguely, you had the memory of approaching the counter and asking for 'something sweet' before paying in a mechanical haze, then stumbling back out to your bike and sipping it in an attempt to stay awake. It _was_ sweet. Almost sickly so, though the bitter aftertaste of the coffee was still there.

You shouldn't have stayed out all night, and you shouldn't have been driving.

But you were.

About an hour later, you were still sitting in that parking lot, just watching the pedestrians mill about. You'd gone back in at some point and ordered another drink. ' _More of the same, please,_ ' you'd said, and thankfully, the barista had recognized you. You were nursing the same drink from earlier, but you still didn't know what it was called. You thought they had said the name when you'd ordered it, but you couldn't remember, still a little bleary from lack of sleep.

Another hour, give or take, and you were eating a doughnut for breakfast, sipping another coffee, still the same order. Still in the parking lot. You weren't even sure if you _liked_ this drink, but some of your faculties were returning, and you were becoming semi-confident in your ability to drive yourself... somewhere. Not home, probably. You weren't sure where you were going next, but if you never saw that apartment again, it would be too soon.

Another hour. More coffee.

It was almost nine AM, you still didn't even know what you were drinking. Your teeth were starting to feel gross.

When you walked into the restaurant again, it was shift change, and the cashier who had been serving you for the entire morning was leaving, but he informed his coworker what you'd been drinking. You didn't catch the name of the drink, and they didn't repeat it when they prepared it for you.

Your card bounced.

On your way out, the barista called out to you and handed you the cup, said it was on the house and smiled really big while they did.

It made you feel worse, and you smiled and thanked them when you took it, but you didn't drink it. You waited until you were rolling to a stop on the freeway off-ramp to dump it out on the side of the road; stored the empty cup in the saddle bag, all crushed into pieces.

It was almost noon when your phone rang. You were sitting in the library parking lot, still mounted on your bike. You'd been sitting there for almost twenty minutes already, debating whether or not you wanted to go inside. You would need to get gas, soon, but you were out of money, and you worked tomorrow.

You needed to go home. You didn't _want_ to go home.

“Hello?” you answered, voice a low, monotone drawl. You hadn't checked who was calling.

“HELLO, DRUNK HUMAN!” Papyrus yelled in his ever-chipper tone. You winced, not expecting his volume, and held the phone a few inches from your ear again. “EVERYTHING IS FINE, I TAKE IT?”

“Yes,” you said, voice still a dull drone as you hunched over on your elbow, shifting to lean against the handle bars of your bike.

“WELL, THAT'S GOOD TO HEAR!” he went on, “IF EVERYTHING _WEREN'T_ FINE, I MIGHT HAVE SAID SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF 'DO NOT WORRY, HUMAN, THINGS WILL GET BETTER, SOON!' IT IS A GOOD THING THAT THERE'S NOTHING TO WORRY ABOUT, THOUGH, ISN'T IT?”

“I guess,” you mumbled, watching someone walk their dog across the street.

“SPLENDID! I WILL TAKE THAT AS A DEFINITIVE ANSWER,” he said, then hummed, “IT IS A VERY NICE DAY OUTSIDE, HAVE YOU SEEN THE SKY YET TODAY? YOU KNOW, THEY SAY THAT FRESH AIR HELPS TO CLEAR THE MIND! UNLESS YOU HAVE ALLERGIES, LIKE ME.”

“Yeah, I'm... outside,” you muttered, blinking at the concrete. You frowned. “You have allergies?”

“ONLY SOMETIMES,” he replied, his tone sounding mildly pleased, “FOR INSTANCE, I AM OCCASIONALLY ALLERGIC TO GREASE, AND _TERRIBLY_ SO.” You hummed.

“Probably going to have allergies pretty bad, soon,” you went on, his joke barely registering, as you rubbed at your eyes as if they had something in them. They were burning, and it was getting harder to keep them open. “It's that time of year.”

“YES, HUMANS OFTEN HAVE THAT PROBLEM,” he said, “I HAVE BEEN BLESSED WITH THE ABILITY TO SMELL THE FIRST FLOWERS OF SPRING WITHOUT TURNING INTO A GROSS, MESSY PILE OF TISSUES AND BLANKETS.”

You hummed again, then let a beat of silence stretch between you.

“ACTUALLY," he went on conversationally, when it seemed like you weren't going to respond, "I HAVE WAXED POETIC ABOUT THEM ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, AND HAVE SUBSEQUENTLY BEEN BROUGHT TO TEARS! HOWEVER, THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH ALLERGIES. THE TEARS WERE SIMPLY BROUGHT UPON BY THE BEAUTY OF NATURE." He let out a quiet, prideful sound. “DID YOU KNOW THAT I HAVE WRITTEN OVER A DOZEN POEMS ABOUT THE FIRST FROST OF WINTER? NONE OF THEM HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED YET, BUT IT IS ONLY BECAUSE I HAVE NOT SUBMITTED THEM ENOUGH TIMES FOR THE PUBLISHERS TO FULLY GRASP THEIR POIGNANCY...”

"Oh yeah?" you prompted mildly, your tone amused, and he eagerly continued to talk to you for almost an hour about nothing at all. When it was time to hang up, you sighed.

Finally, you headed home.

 

→

 

“NO, I HAVE NEVER TRIED HUMAN ALCOHOL,” Papyrus was saying as you browsed the aisles at your local liquor store. It was Friday, or payday, and you were on the phone with him again for the third day in a row after he had called and woke you up on your day off. You had worked the late shift today, and it was almost ten at night as you selected a bottle of your favorite wine from the shelf, making a sound of acknowledgment into the receiver. “I RARELY DRINK MONSTER ALCOHOL, AS IS. THAT'S NOT BECAUSE I DON'T ENJOY IT, I JUST SIMPLY DO NOT HAVE THE TIME TO BECOME 'PROPERLY SLOSHED', AS A FRIEND OF MINE WOULD PUT IT.”

“So. This means you didn't drink that ale,” you said, clicking your tongue and stocking up on a second bottle before you headed to the register.

“NO, I DID NOT! BUT WORRY NOT, DRUNK HUMAN, I HAVE NOT THROWN IT AWAY YET. IT IS STILL SAFELY TUCKED AWAY IN THE BACK SEAT OF MY CAR!” he said as you stepped into line.

“I mean I feel like you could just give it back to me, at this point,” you were saying. The person ahead of you had a hand-basket full of those mini-liquor bottles that people buy to sample different flavors. You eyed their basket with a frown, then went on, “It's been a few days. I learned my lesson.”

“I AM STILL DECIDING ON WHAT TO DO ABOUT THE ALE! BUT I CAN ASSURE YOU, I WILL NOT BE RETURNING IT TO YOU,” he replied. You huffed gently, but didn't protest. “ALTHOUGH, I AM NOT SURE I WILL BE DRINKING IT, EITHER. I HAVE A FRIEND WHO SOMETIMES ENJOYS HUMAN ALCOHOL, ALTHOUGH MONSTER BODIES CAN'T EXACTLY PROCESS IT UNLESS IT IS PREPARED A VERY SPECIFIC WAY. OR _ALTERED_ IN A SIMILARLY SPECIFIC WAY.”

“Oh, fuck–”

“LANGUAGE.”

“–so that means you'll _never_ drink that ale,” you said, your frown deepening. The person ahead of you was piling tiny bottles of alcohol on the counter. The cashier looked exasperated. “Do you have another human you could give it to?”

“NOT ANY WHO ARE OLD ENOUGH TO DRINK!” he exclaimed, “AND I WOULD NOT ENCOURAGE ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION, ANYWAY. HUMAN ALCOHOL IS ESSENTIALLY POISON, YOU KNOW. I WOULD BE GIVING MY FRIEND THE EQUIVALENT OF A VERY INEFFECTUAL DEATH POTION.”

“A _tasty_ , ineffectual death potion,” you corrected, and he let out a mildly-frustrated hum, “This is why you should just. Gimme my ale back.”

“NO,” he said, his tone suggesting finality.

“Boo,” you muttered, watching absently as the cashier scanned tiny bottle after tiny bottle, disappearing them into a large paper bag.

“THIS TOPIC OF DISCUSSION MAKES ME THINK THAT, PERHAPS, YOU ARE EITHER DRINKING OR PURCHASING ALCOHOL AS WE SPEAK,” he said slowly. “I MUST ADVISE AGAINST THIS, BUT I UNDERSTAND THAT YOU WILL PROBABLY IGNORE ME.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. Tiny bottles continued to slide across the counter. “Sorry.”

“PERHAPS YOU SHOULD SWITCH TO MONSTER ALCOHOL,” he went on, seeming to ignore your apology entirely, “HAVE YOU EVER TRIED IT?” You paused, squinting as if trying to remember. Had you?

“I don't... think so?” you said uncertainly, “I guess I always just assumed that a poison's a poison, you know? Never looked into it.”

“POISON IS INDEED POISON!” he chirped, “BUT MONSTER ALCOHOL IS NOT. IT ISN'T EVEN ALCOHOL, REALLY, ALTHOUGH IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL SIMILARLY. OR SO I AM TOLD... BY SEMI-RELIABLE SOURCES... WHO OFTEN DRINK ON THEIR DAYS OFF, BUT ALSO HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO EMBELLISH THE TRUTH BEYOND REASON.”

“I just realized you said you can alter human alcohol so monsters can drink it, so can't you alter that ale and–”

“ _NO._ ”

The person ahead of you left with their over-full paper bag of tiny alcohol, and you stepped forward with a sigh.

 

→

 

You were still a little drunk when morning came, and your whole apartment smelled like weed despite the box fan in the window, but you dragged your ass out of bed anyway and made your way to the bathroom. When you were clean, dressed, and looking presentable, you trudged to the kitchen and ate a quick breakfast.

It was almost ten A.M, and your neighbor would be expecting you any minute now. You came by around the same time on the same day each week, picked up her list of groceries, then drove out to buy them for her. Her name was Miranda, and she always tried to give you money to reimburse you, but she never needed more than you could afford, and you didn't like taking her money. You left it more often than you took it, and you only took it if you needed it. You'd picked up some hours last week, so your check had been good enough that you weren't worried about leaving the money on her coffee table instead of pocketing it to cover the cost.

She was waiting for you when you knocked on her door almost ten minutes later, smiling in spite of your hangover and lingering buzz. If she noticed anything different about the way you walked into her apartment and spoke to her, she didn't say anything about it. It smelled like pot in here, too, and you wished for the millionth time that the building's owner would do something about the stoners in the apartment down the hall.

You left the money, pocketed the list, and finished eating the cookie she'd given you on your way to the elevator. She usually sent you off with sweets, and you suspected there would be a tupperware container full of these waiting for you when you got back.

You were buying a small four-pack of toilet paper when your phone rang, the timing perfect enough that you were almost through scanning the last of the items on her list when you answered.

“DRUNKEN HUMAN!” Papyrus yelled before you could say anything, his voice ringing loudly from the receiver. You were prepared this time, and had remembered to hold the phone away from your ear. “I HAVE A RIDDLE FOR YOU!”

“What travels everywhere, but never actually moves?” you said before he could give his riddle, and he seemed to pause.

“I– THAT– ...HOLD ON.”

The corner of your lips quirked up in amusement as you finished scanning your neighbor's groceries, paying with one hand as he mulled your riddle over. You were loading the bags into your cart when you heard him snap his fingers loudly and make a delighted sound.

“NYEH HEH HEH! THE ANSWER IS _THE ROAD!_ ”

“Yep!” you said, almost chuckling as he made a triumphant sound. You wheeled towards the doors, maneuvering your cart past the other shoppers as you went.

“CLEVER! ANOTHER ACCEPTIBLE ANSWER WOULD HAVE BEEN 'MY BROTHER',” he went on. You quirked a brow as you headed out to your bike. “ALTHOUGH, I SUPPOSE HE MOVES ON OCCASION TO LEAVE HIS SOCKS IN UNFORTUNATE LOCATIONS. I HAVE ALSO SEEN HIM STIR ONCE OR TWICE IN HIS SLEEP. NOW, IT IS MY TURN!” he continued excitedly before you could question him, “THIS IS A VERY CLEVER ONE THAT I DEVISED RECENTLY– WHAT HAS TWO EYES, BUT CANNOT SEE; NO VOICE, YET IT COMMUNICATES CONSTANTLY; IGNORING IT CAN CAUSE YOU HARM, AND LISTENING REQUIRES PATIENCE, THOUGH IT CAN ONLY SAY THREE THINGS.”

You paused outside of the store for a moment, mouth slightly open.

“Uh... can I hear that again?” you asked meekly as you started for your motorcycle. He made a pleased sound and assented, repeating it slowly for you. You started cramming groceries into the saddle bags on your bike as you thought about it, pulling out and setting aside the duffle bag you had brought for the excess. It seemed intimidating, but that might have only been because it was so long.

“I WOULD GIVE YOU A HINT,” Papyrus said after you had been silent for a few minutes. You were packing the heavy items into the duffle bag as he spoke, “BUT I THINK YOU HAVE ENOUGH TO WORK WITH, AND I DON'T WANT TO GIVE IT AWAY. WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR IT ONE MORE TIME?”

“Um. Yeah, please?” you said, wheeling your empty cart over to the corral, “I'm grocery shopping right now, and I need to drive home, so I'm gonna have to call you back later. But I'll think about it on the way home.”

“NYEH HEH HEH, OF COURSE!” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. He gave you the riddle once more before you said your goodbyes, and you rode back to your apartment building.

You ran the riddle by your neighbor when you got back, lugging everything into her apartment as you spoke. Maybe it was cheating, but you had been thinking about it the entire drive home, and you still hadn't a clue what the answer was. Your neighbor was about as stumped as you, leaning back in her rocking chair as you unpacked everything and put it away, her wrinkled brow creased further in thought.

“Maybe a sign?” she had said vaguely when you came to sit with her a moment, drinking the tea she'd made for you to be polite and leaving the container of cookies she'd given you open between the two of you on the table, “But it can only say three things....”

“A camera only has one eye,” you mused, sipping at your tea thoughtfully, “And it doesn't say anything. Well– it does, but it only says one thing. And I don't see how ignoring it could hurt you.”

“Unless you're a criminal,” she joked, then smiled in your direction.

“Well, sure,” you said, chuckling. You paused to drink your tea, checking the time. You needed to leave for work soon. “'Stop, drop, and roll'? Something to do with fire safety?”

“Hmm,” she sipped at her own tea, then chuckled. “Maybe Doris will have an idea.”

“Well– If I figure it out, I'll give you a call,” you said, setting down your empty cup and smiling, “but I need to go get ready for work.”

“Oh, of course! Don't forget your cookies!”

She saw you out on creaky legs, thanking you again for helping her. When you were finished dressing for work and were seated on your motorcycle, you called Papyrus again.

“DID YOU SOLVE IT??” He sounded excited, having picked up on the first ring, and it made you smile.

“No,” you said. He let out a prideful sound, and you continued, “I'm going to work now, but I'll call you when I figure it out.”

“DO NOT WORRY ABOUT CALLING ME WHILE YOU'RE AT WORK,” he replied, his tone mildly chiding, “I DON'T WANT YOU TO GET IN TROUBLE.”

“Well, I can text,” you mumbled idly, suppressing a yawn, “Nobody will know.”

He hummed, but didn't protest.

 

→

You were nauseous when you woke up, still groggy from sleep as you stumbled from the couch to the window, hanging out in an attempt to get some fresh air (or what might pass for fresh air in the city). Pot was legal in Ebott, but that didn't mean you wanted to wake up in a cloud of it and get a contact high every fucking day.

When you had recovered, you rushed through your morning routine and then fled the building, making for your bike well before you needed to leave for work. Since you had skipped breakfast, you made the trip out to a local diner, only a few minutes from the building. It was a little after noon, and most of the booths were full, but you managed to commandeer a table near the back, up against a wall and underneath a large painting of a clown.

You studied the painting with pursed lips while you waited for your order. Papyrus called while you were eating.

“Hey, good morning,” you said when you answered, holding your phone about three inches from the side of your head.

“YES, GOOD AFTERNOON,” he said briskly. Your mouth twitched up into a smile, and you stabbed at your eggs idly as he spoke in a much friendlier tone, “HOW ARE YOU FEELING?” You made a noncommittal grunt as you thought about how gross you'd felt when you woke up, frowning at your eggs.

“How about you?” you asked instead of giving a real answer.

“AMAZING, AS USUAL!” he exclaimed, “I CANNOT TALK FOR VERY LONG TODAY, BUT I WANTED TO CHECK IN ANYWAY, EVEN IF IT IS JUST A BRIEF EXCHANGE. UNLESS YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORK?”

“Oh,” you were surprised to find that you felt disappointed, your fork halting its assault on your breakfast. You swallowed the feeling, shrugging it off as lingering upset from this morning, “Uh, yeah, I do work today. That's fine, man, I understand.” He hummed absently.

“IT IS NOT BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO TALK!” he went on, papers shuffling in the background. You heard someone yelling distantly, but you couldn't make out the words, “BELIEVE ME, I WOULD MUCH RATHER BE TALKING TO YOU THAN... WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS I AM DOING RIGHT NOW.” You huffed out a chuckle.

“Arresting someone? Paperwork?” you guessed, and he made an irritable noise.

“NOT ARRESTING SOMEONE, BECAUSE THEN I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO TALK TO YOU!” he said quickly, “PHONING A FRIEND WHILE PROCESSING A CRIMINAL IS DEFINITELY _NOT_ ALLOWED. IT WOULD BE _WILDLY_ UNPROFESSIONAL, EVEN IF NOBODY WOULD SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT TO ANYONE. CERTAINLY NOT _THAT_ ANYONE, WHO IS IN THE NEXT ROOM, SCREAMING HER HEAD OFF.” More papers shuffled; Papyrus sighed. “I HAVE TO GO, HOWEVER. JUST IN CASE AN ARREST _IS_ HAPPENING. YOU NEVER KNOW, AROUND HERE.” That startled a laugh out of you; a quiet chuckle that had you hunching over your table slightly.

“Yeah, okay,” you said, grinning at your plate. “I'll talk to you, uh, when I talk to you.”

“YES, IT WOULD BE KIND OF DIFFICULT TO TALK TO ME AT ANY OTHER TIME,” he said, his tone mildly amused, “OH, AND I WANTED TO ASK– DID YOU SOLVE MY RIDDLE?”

“Oh!” With chagrin, you realized you had forgotten about it after work. You had thought about it for a good portion of the day, but Miranda hadn't called you with any new leads on what the solution might be, and your mind had been occupied with other things. You set your fork down to rub at your neck nervously as you spoke, “Um, no, not yet. I'm still working on it, though. I haven't given up.”

“GOOD!” he said brightly, “NOW, I REALLY HAVE TO GO. INTAKE CAN GO ON FOR... QUITE A WHILE, SOMETIMES. NOT THAT ANYONE IS BEING PROCESSED. IF THEY WERE, HOWEVER, I AM NOT ENTIRELY SURE IF UNDYNE BELIEVED ME WHEN I TOLD HER I WAS GOING TO USE THE RESTROOM.” You suppressed a laugh at that, and he went on, “I HOPE YOU WILL FEEL BETTER LATER, BUT IF YOU ARE NOT, YOU CAN ALWAYS GIVE ME A CALL! UNTIL THEN!”

He hung up abruptly then, not waiting for a response, as he sometimes did. Your tentative good mood began to fade, and you realized with a start that you had _been_ in a good mood in the first place, and only after Papyrus had called you.

Then, another thing he'd said clicked in your mind. He'd called you his friend.

You picked up your fork carefully, frowning into your plate as the last shreds of your high spirits fluttered away.

 

→

 

You pushed open your window as far as it would go, grumbling as you climbed carefully out onto the fire escape with a bottle of wine grasped in one hand and a coffee mug dangling from your fingers. The world was turning the ethereal blue of twilight, the hazy sky dimming as the sun tipped behind the horizon. Your days off were inconsistent, but you had one tomorrow, and you intended on spending your night anywhere but in your stuffy, smelly apartment. Since you didn't want to spend another night roaming the streets and binge-drinking coffee in a parking lot come morning, you were headed to the roof, where you could at least get drunk, pass out, and then wander back to your apartment at your leisure.

Papyrus hadn't called today– not that he _had_ to call daily, but... he had been making a habit out of doing so, as of late. When your phone hadn't rung earlier before work, you had been... disappointed, in spite of yourself. You realized that you were starting to expect these calls, almost anticipating them.

You... weren't too happy about this realization.

You had solved his riddle yesterday after work, and after you had called your elderly neighbor Miranda to let her in on the answer, you had thought about calling him, but had reasoned that it was probably too late in the evening for a phone call. Despite the fact that he had called you after work on one occasion. Also, considering the fact that you'd met when he was out jogging in the middle of the night, you weren't entirely sure what he actually considered to _be_ 'too late'. You didn't actually know too much about him, to be honest. Whenever he called, the two of you usually talked about innocuous things rather than share information about each other, or opinions about important things.

Well. You knew his stance on motorcycles and alcohol, at least. Those were _kind_ of important. At least, they were to you.

Speaking of alcohol, you had been meaning to actually _try_ some monster drinks, maybe switch over like Papyrus had suggested, but you had decided to wait until your day off. It was easier to just go to the same place you already knew after work, buy the things you knew you liked, and drink what was simple and familiar. You didn't even know how to find monster alcohol, or what stores carried it. You would probably have to go to a specialty store, or something in one of the monster districts outside of the city.

You finished your climb to the roof and sat down against one of the air ducts, gaze lifting to the sky. Hazy tufts of clouds drifted by overhead, wispy blotches of white against an inky blackness. There were no stars out tonight, but you hadn't expected to see any, what with all of the light pollution from the city. You hadn't had a good view of the stars since–

Well, since last week, actually. When you'd gone all the way out to Ebott State Park and met Papyrus in the first place.

You poured yourself your first glass of wine, then turned your gaze to the city skyline instead. It was pretty, at the very least. The lights from all of the windows almost looked like stars, if you squinted. Despite the tall buildings, you could even see Mount Ebott from here, looming behind the city like a great, sleeping giant.

You took a slow sip of wine.

Earlier, you had again thought about calling him, when it had seemed like he wasn't going to call today, but you just... hadn't been able to do it. A text would have probably been fine, but the two of you hadn't texted since that first day, and for some reason you felt... weird about texting him. The two of you always _talked_ , and it had only been a week, but–

You sighed, shaking your head. Another slow sip of wine, another visual sweep of the horizon. Up here, the sounds from the city below were dampened, almost muffled. On windy days, you couldn't even hear them.

It was nice.

You were three glasses deep, and it was a little after midnight, when your phone rang. It was Papyrus, and you didn't know why, but you were almost relieved to see his name flash up on the screen, a small smile quirking at your lips. You answered on the first ring, speaking up before he could say anything.

“It's a traffic light.”

He let out a delighted gasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a traff _i_ c l _i_ ght  
> :3


	5. Aside from my crime spree, where I do loads of crimes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “YOU'RE COVERING UP THE FACT THAT YOU ARE A HARDCORE CRIMINAL! THIS IS WHY YOU BECAME FRIENDS WITH ME, ISN'T IT??”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's time to reveal my Big Secret--  
> i don't know anything about riding motorcycles. i just think it's really cool.  
> but, these saddle bags are pretty big, i guess? i don't think it's unrealistic to imagine they're big enough to hold a few bags of groceries on either side...  
> anyway, uh--  
> i'm not SUPER pleased with this chapter, and i spent a lot of time editing it and trying to get it to read the way i wanted it to. i'm not sure it's where i want it to be, but i'm pretty happy with how the next chapter is coming along, so!  
> here! we! go!!

Papyrus continued to call for the rest of the week, and you continued to answer every one of them, talking to him until he ended the conversation. As counterintuitive as it was, the longer you talked to him, the more anxious it seemed to make you, collecting in a tight knot that only seemed to get more and more tangled as time went on. You were starting to actually stress out about your interactions with him, second-guessing everything you'd said until it felt like your nerves were fraying to the point of snapping. You had started chasing his conversations with a drink, but it wasn't even his fault you were stressed out, and it wasn't like you didn't want to talk to him– you did! You even looked forward to his calls....

You took a drink of ale now, leaning out of your open window and staring off at nothing, your phone hanging loosely from one hand. The night air was warm tonight, and you could even trick yourself into thinking it smelled like spring rather than smog and exhaust. Your neighbors were playing some loud rock music next door, and that, coupled with the sounds of traffic outside, was giving you a pounding headache.

You were just really unsure why Papyrus was talking to you in the first place. And you were wondering when this was all going to end, when he was going to realize that he didn't want you for a friend, when he was finally going to get bored of you. It had been two weeks, and he didn't seem bored at all, but you'd met some very convincing people in your time who had seemed just as friendly with you, yet behind closed doors when they thought their words wouldn't get back to you, or when they thought you weren't looking...

The mask cracked. You were blindsided, each time.

You finished the bottle, then ducked back inside. It was late, and you needed to get some sleep. You had a late day tomorrow, but it was payday, and you were planning on doing some shopping earlier in the day; you didn't want to be buzzed or hungover in the morning. It was part of the reason you were working your way through a case of beer, rather than a few bottles of wine.

You were also really lucky that the rent was so cheap here. Living on the shit side of town had its perks...

Kind of?

You shut your window, resolutely tucking your most recent empty back into the box. You only had a few left, and the temptation was there to just finish them, but you plucked them out and crammed them into the mini fridge instead. A glance at the time told you it was almost one in the morning. With a groan, you grabbed a glass and filled it to the brim with water before heading off for bed.

 

→

 

You were walking with purpose through the parking lot after you'd finished shopping, barely taking notice of the cop car parked only two spaces away from your bike. It wasn't until you had wheeled your cart, laden with bags of groceries, up to your bike that you took a moment to look around, removing your helmet from one saddle bag and setting it on the seat. You were unfurling your duffle bag when you spotted it, looking across the tops of the cars parked between it and you, then froze on the spot when you saw the tall skeleton monster leaning against the hood.

You hadn't gotten a good look at him before, but there was no denying that it was him– you'd know his voice anywhere by now, and he was chatting happily on a bulky, black phone that was clutched in one black-gloved hand. In his other hand was a styrofoam cup of coffee, and he hadn't spotted you yet, facing away towards the rest of the lot. He was _tall_ , you noted, taller than you remembered him being, although you hadn't exactly stood side-by-side the last time you'd seen him. Papyrus cleared seven feet easily, possibly measuring in at eight, and he was _lanky_ , his long legs crossed over one another as he reclined against the front of his squad car. He was dressed in a short sleeved uniform, as black as his gloves, obviously patrolling. It was striking on his broad frame, his badge gleaming from his chest in the sunlight.

A jolt of panic seized you, and for a split second, you considered hitting the deck and just hiding, but– You were friends... right? It would probably be fine if you said hi to him. Once he finished talking on the phone, that is.

Of course, as soon as you had this thought, his skull turned slightly in your direction while he spoke, as if he could feel you looking at him. His _whole face_ seemed to light up, like he were seeing an old friend for the first time in years, and he let out a pleased exclamation while you waved sheepishly with one hand, still clutching your duffle bag with the other. You heard him tell the person on the other end of the line that he would call them right back, just give him a few moments, and then he was straightening up, pushing off of the hood of his car and grinning brightly at you. He tucked his phone into the pocket of his uniform, where it seemed to inexplicably disappear, and started towards you.

You felt your stomach do a flip–

“DRUNK HUMAN!!”

–and then you felt the tension break immediately when he shouted your nickname, startling an incredulous laugh from you as he crossed the distance, a wide grin stretched across his teeth.

“Hey, Papyrus,” you said with a smile as he came to rest next to your bike, eyeing your groceries with a detached sort of interest, then turning a critical eye on your bike, his brows barely creasing. “I mean, _Officer_ Papyrus,” you amended jokingly, pointing at his uniform briefly. “Fancy meeting you here, huh?”

“YES, I WASN'T EXPECTING TO SEE YOU! OF COURSE, I MEAN, WHY WOULD I? BUT IT IS A VERY NICE SURPRISE!” He beamed down at you, and your stomach did another flip. “YOU ARE BUYING... A _LOT_ OF GROCERIES!” He looked at the duffle bag next, expression almost... skeptical?

“Yeah, I'm doing someone else's shopping,” you said, shrugging as his focus returned to you, still smiling politely, “You know, like... they pay me and I drop their groceries off? I normally do it on Saturdays, but I had some extra time today, so...” you trailed off, and he suddenly snapped his fingers, looking pleased.

“AH, YES, I'VE HEARD OF THIS!” He almost sounded proud, lifting one finger from his coffee cup to point knowingly. “LIKE A SECOND JOB? YOUR MAIN JOB IS AT THAT OTHER GROCERY STORE, ISN'T IT?”

You were surprised he'd remembered– you had only mentioned it once, the first time he'd called you after work, back when he'd recommended monster alcohol for you.

“Yeah, it is!” you said, grinning, “but, uh, this isn't my second job. It's kind of just... something I do for one specific person?”

“AH! AN EXCLUSIVE DEAL, THEN. I SEE!” He took a sip of his coffee. “BUT IF IT BRINGS IN EXTRA MONEY, THEN I THINK IT TECHNICALLY COUNTS!”

“Oh, uh–“ You chuckled nervously again, not mentioning that you didn't even take the money more than half the time. You guess it was still technically a profit, since you did get paid... once in a great while. “Heh, yeah, I'm like... a model citizen, or something,” you said, trying to joke. Thankfully, he picked up on it, expression turning playfully chiding.

“YES, AS LONG AS YOU ARE NOT GETTING DRUNK IN A PUBLIC SPACE,” he replied, as if chastising you. He was still grinning, though, so you laughed.

“I mean, maybe I was... leading by example?” He raised his brows at you, and you snorted at his expression, shaking your head. “No, you know, like– what _not_ to do?”

“IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT? WITHOUT AN AUDIENCE?” He almost seemed to smirk, and you chuckled again.

“So, technically _not_ in public,” you said, fiddling with your duffle bag. He scowled, though his teeth twitched, as if he were trying not to grin.

“IT WAS DEFINITELY THE _OPPOSITE_ OF NOT BEING IN PUBLIC, BECAUSE YOU WERE STILL ONE-HUNDRED-PERCENT WORKING YOUR WAY THROUGH A CASE OF BEER IN A STATE PARK,” he said, scoffing, and you snickered as you set your duffle bag aside, beginning to load the more fragile groceries into the saddle bags. His stern expression seemed to crack.

“NYEH HEH HEH HEH,” he laughed along with you, shaking his head. “YOU ARE JUST GIVING ME A HARD TIME, I KNOW. I TRUST YOU HAVE BEEN OPERATING INSIDE THE LAW SINCE THEN?”

“Well, what else am I going to say to that but ' _yes, of course, Officer_ '?” you asked incredulously, and he huffed some air out through his nasal cavity, amused. “But yeah, actually. Aside from my crime spree, where I do loads of crimes.”

“FAIR ENOUGH.” He chuckled, swirling his coffee around, and then, “WHAT SORT OF CRIME?” he asked with narrowed eye sockets. You glanced around slyly.

“Oh, you know,” you hedged suspiciously as you began packing the duffle bag, “Bank jobs, mostly.”

“AH YES, SO _YOU'RE_ THE BANK ROBBER WHO HAS BEEN HITTING EVERY BANK IN EBOTT!” He suddenly gasped comically, brow bones shooting up again. “YOU'RE COVERING UP THE FACT THAT YOU ARE A HARDCORE CRIMINAL! THIS IS WHY YOU BECAME FRIENDS WITH ME, ISN'T IT??”

“Yeah, that's me,” you said with a lazy smile, and his face suddenly and inexplicably lit up. Papyrus beamed down at you again, and your next words caught in your throat. To your surprise, he picked up the thread.

“NYEH HEH HEH, YOU'RE 'ALL ABOUT THAT LIFE',” he recited, and it took you a minute, but you laughed too, trying to ignore the way your heartbeat had picked up. “I AM WELL AWARE OF THAT, HUMAN.”

“R-right.” You suddenly focused on your groceries, grinning like a fool. “I– befriend cops all the time! Get on their good side... then betray them by robbing a bank? Then I rub it in their face by essentially telling on myself.”

“PROBABLY BECAUSE THE GUILT IS JUST _EATING_ AT YOU,” he said knowingly. You glanced up in time to see him take another drink of his coffee, his skull turned as if to watch some distant shopper– or maybe he was watching the cars again. You couldn't be sure.

“Ha, yeah...” you trailed off as you finished loading up your duffle bag with the rest of your groceries, and his gaze flickered back to you. “I guess I secretly want to be a good person, and the only way to redeem myself is to turn myself in.” You sighed wistfully, zipping the bag up and lifting it as if to sling it across your back.

“I SUPPOSE I'LL TAKE THOSE GROCERIES OFF YOUR HANDS, THEN!” he joked, grabbing the bag before you could. You yelped as he lifted it easily with one hand, slinging it onto his shoulder. “SINCE YOU'RE GOING TO JAIL, AND EVERYTHING.”

“Wh–“ You startled when he actually about-faced and started for his car, downing the rest of his coffee as he did. “What!” you squawked with a smile, hurrying to follow and stopping next to him when he paused to unlock his cruiser. “You're not serious about taking them! More than half of those aren't even mine, you know!!”

“WELL, I GUESS THAT SUCKS FOR YOU!” He said bluntly, and you gasped in mock appall, still grinning. His expression twitched as he stared down at you, and then it broke suddenly when he started laughing. “NYEH HEH HEH, OF COURSE YOU KNOW I AM KIDDING! BUT IF YOU LIKE, I CAN TRANSPORT THESE FOR YOU? I STILL HAVE SOME TIME LEFT ON MY MANDATORY BREAK, UNLESS YOU HAVE TO GO ALL THE WAY ACROSS TOWN?” You blinked in surprise, straightening slightly.

“Oh, uh– I– I don't know, is that really okay?” you asked, “I mean, I do this every week, it's not a big deal if I take them myself. It's– they're for my neighbor down the hall, so I'll just be going back to my building, and it's... not that far.”

“SPLENDID! THEN I CAN JUST HEAD THERE FOR YOU, AND YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT RIDING AROUND ON THAT AWFUL DEATH MACHINE WITH A HEAVY BAG STRAPPED TO YOUR BACK!” He grinned at you, and you hesitated, about to say that you weren't worried, but he spoke up first. “AND OF COURSE IT IS OKAY! I MEAN, TECHNICALLY IT COULD BE CONSIDERED A MISUSE OF GOVERNMENT RESOURCES, BUT... WELL....” You suddenly snorted, and he smiled hesitantly.

“Jeez, Pap, you're a loose canon, aren't you?” you asked, your tone playful. Papyrus blinked down at you. “A loose canon cop who plays by his own rules!”

He suddenly looked extraordinarily pleased.

“NYEH HEH HEH, OF COURSE!!” He drew himself up, puffing out his chest as if showing off. “BESIDES, THE CITY PAYS FOR MY GAS! NYEH HEH... HEH...” He seemed nervous all of a sudden, glancing around cautiously and then back to you, grinning. “I WON'T TELL IF YOU DON'T!”

“Well,” you chuckled, “I think we're in one of those scenarios where we know we won't tell on each other, 'cause we're both doing crimes, right?”

“THIS IS NOT A CRIME!” he exclaimed, turning to face you, and you snickered. He scoffed. “YOU ARE GIVING ME A HARD TIME AGAIN! THE MOST THAT MIGHT HAPPEN IS A WRITE-UP, OR... PERHAPS MY BOSS WILL JUST YELL AT ME... NYEH...”

“It's really not a big deal,” you said, shrugging, “and I don't want you to get in trouble. I can handle it, I mean, it's– what, less than a ten minute drive from here?”

“LESS THAN _THAT_ , IF YOU HAVE SIRENS!” Papyrus exclaimed suddenly, and you gasped again. He immediately appeared anxious once more, glancing around as if someone might have overheard him. “ER– I MEAN– BUT I AM JUST JOKING, OF COURSE! IF I WERE TO ABUSE MY SIREN, THAT WOULD BE... NOT OKAY. THAT... IS PROBABLY ILLEGAL! AND WOULD _DEFINITELY_ GET ME FIRED, NEPOTISM NOTWITHSTANDING.” He chuckled nervously and, without thinking, you reached out to pat him on the arm.

“I knew you were joking,” you said reassuringly, and he smiled down at you as you took your hand back. He hummed, then turned abruptly to pull open the driver's side door, leaning in to gingerly place your groceries in the passenger seat. He must have set his coffee down in the cup holder, because when he reemerged, his hands were empty.

“YES, I KNOW! I WAS SIMPLY... MAKING SURE.” He straightened up again, hands on his hips as he went on, “I WILL FOLLOW YOU?”

“Oh, um–“ you paused, unsure what he meant at first, and then, “Sure, okay!” You took a step back as he moved climb into his cruiser. It looked like a tight fit. “If– I mean, if you're sure about this? It's really okay?” He sent another dazzling smile your way, quelling any future protests, and laughed gently.

“YES, IT IS OKAY.” He turned towards you slightly in his seat, one arm propped up on the steering wheel, his other hanging loosely from the back of the seat. “I AM SIMPLY DOING A FAVOR FOR A– A FRIEND?” It almost sounded like a question, and his hesitance tugged a smile from you.

“Yeah... okay,” you said, taking another step back, “Then, I'll... I'll see you there!”

“AND A FEW TIMES ON THE WAY, I IMAGINE!” he quipped, and you laughed, nodding in assent as you backed up to your motorcycle.

“Ha, yeah, probably–” You took another step back and almost tripped over your bike, awkwardly whipping around and flushing when he snickered and asked if you were alright.

He drove behind you for most of the trip, and you took comfort in the fact that your helmet hid your face from view. It meant that you didn't have to be worried about the amount of times you glanced back at him in your mirrors, or the amount of times you took your eyes off the road when he pulled into the lane next to you for a while. You merged behind him when you came to the turn that would take you to your apartment building, and he had to park a little ways down the block when you arrived. You felt a little bad, but he didn't seem to mind, and he had no trouble at all with the duffle bag.

“Thanks for this,” you were saying as he jogged up to you with the bag, smiling. You took it from him and slung it across your back as he spoke.

“NYEH HEH, IT WAS NO PROBLEM AT ALL FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” He puffed up pridefully again, and you chuckled, opening your saddle bags to begin unloading the rest. “YOU'RE VERY GOOD, BY THE WAY! VERY ATTENTIVE; I WAS ONLY WORRIED YOU MIGHT GET KILLED ONCE!”

“Oh–“ you snorted, grinning up at him, your eyes crinkling in amusement, “Well, thanks. I do try not to get killed... It's a whole thing, with me.”

“NYEH HEH HEH HEH, GOOD!” he chortled, lingering as you loaded your arms with bags. Then, he hummed. “I NEED TO GO BACK ON SHIFT SOON, BUT I CAN AT LEAST GET THE DOORS FOR YOU. YOU CAN HANDLE THE ELEVATOR THIS TIME?”

You weren't sure what he was referring to at first, but then you remembered your embarrassing time in the elevator on the night you'd met with another snort. You shook your head, tucking your helmet back into a now-empty saddle bag.

“Yeeeeah,” you muttered in faux-irritation, and he chuckled, coaxing an amused smirk out of you. You carried three bags on one arm and four on the other as you began walking towards the door. “I think I can manage to hit the buttons this time.”

“WONDERFUL!” He said, taking a few bags from you when you started to fumble for your keys. You smiled up at him in thanks, unlocking the door and tugging it open.

“Thanks,” you were mumbling absently as you took your bags back from him. He held the door for you, and you hesitated before going in. “Um– thanks again for all the help, Papyrus,” you said, and he hit you with another charming smile, humming.

“AS I SAID, IT WAS NO PROBLEM AT ALL.” You nodded.

“Then, I'll see you around!” You readjusted your groceries, turning to go, and he made a small sound, as if in protest. You hesitated, glancing back to where he still hovered in the door.

“ER– HUMAN...” he glanced away, as if nervous, and you tried a reassuring smile. It seemed to work, because he drew himself up slightly, looking a little more confident. “HUMAN, ACTUALLY... I HAVE BEEN MEANING TO ASK YOU– WOULD YOU LIKE TO HANG OUT SOMETIME? SOON? WE CAN HAVE MORE CONVERSATIONS IN PERSON, RATHER THAN... ON THE PHONE.” He hesitated, and you opened your mouth, as if to respond, but he was already plunging on, “IT IS JUST THAT I HAVE A MANDATORY DAY OFF TOMORROW, AND I WILL NOT HAVE MUCH TO DO FOR MOST OF THE DAY! SO...” he trailed off, and you blinked, almost laughing at his wording, but caught off guard by his offer.

“Oh! Um... You wanna hang out tomorrow?” you asked, and he brightened immediately.

“YES! THAT WOULD BE GREAT!” You almost kicked yourself, but... he suddenly looked so happy. And it wasn't like you _didn't_ want to spend time with him, or anything. You were nervous, of course, and you hadn't meant to ask him like that, but, well... you would have said yes, anyway. Your lips quirked up in a smile.

“Well, I work in the afternoon,” you said, “But we can hang out for a while in the morning?”

“YES!” He appeared excited now. “I CAN CALL YOU LATER TO SET UP A TIME! DO YOU WORK TONIGHT?” You nodded.

“I have a late shift, so I don't get out until eleven,” you said, shifting the weight of your groceries. “Is that too late, or? I can text you on my lunch?”

“NO, ELEVEN IS FINE!” he said, waving you off immediately, “I'LL SPEAK TO YOU THEN! FOR NOW, I WILL LET YOU GET THOSE GROCERIES UPSTAIRS.”

“Alright,” you shrugged three bags onto your right arm and lifted your hand to wave, “I'll talk to you later then, Papyrus!”

“NYEH HEH HEH, YES! TALK TO YOU LATER, HUMAN!” he exclaimed, and then he was gone, almost sprinting away despite the look of excitement on his face. You waited there for a moment, then began lugging your groceries to the elevator with an amused huff.

Almost two hours later, after having tea with your neighbor Miranda, you let yourself unravel a little in the safety of your apartment. You took a little comfort in your daily routine– getting ready for work didn't _get rid_ of the crippling anxiety coursing through you, but it did help distract you from it.

It would be fine, though, you would probably have fun! You'd hung out with friends like this before, and you always had fun, even though you stressed out about it beforehand. This would be no different, you just had to suck it up and power through the nerves. It would be fun. You were going to have _fun_ , tomorrow.

Despite your attempts to comfort yourself, you didn't stop worrying until you got to work, where you could shut off your brain for a while and just focus on stocking shelves and helping customers.

 


	6. Some cold, phantom breeze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "WHAT IS THAT SPECIFIC CHIP CALLED, HUMAN? DOES IT HAVE A NAME? AN OCCUPATION?
> 
> “A MORTGAGE?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so. this chapter would have been up sooner, but i didn't have a way to post it. honestly, it's kind of frustrating, but i just have to keep trying. or something. i had fun writing this one, anyway, so i hope it's fun to read. 
> 
> the only person i have ever seen make papyrus blush blue was [popatochisp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/popatochisp/pseuds/popatochisp), so i thought i should mention that, since i neglected to do it the last time i made papyrus blush blue. you've probably checked out their stories, but, uh, maybe do it again?? re-read your favorites, already, gosh.  
> anyway, it really does make more sense to me, but if you want to just imagine he's blushing orange or pink (which are both still very cute) or some other third thing, then who am i to stop you??
> 
> uuh, and. i'm pretty excited for some of the things coming up. i seriously can't wait for the later chapters of this story. the outline is a monster on it's own.  
> i hope everyone enjoys this, and i want to say thanks again for the support on this story. 
> 
> is the movie starting for real???

You were leaning gingerly against your bike where you had parallel parked along the curb, your helmet already tucked away in the saddle bags as you waited outside of a restaurant you'd never even driven past before. It was called Mira's, and it was tucked away in the middle of the busiest part of the city. Apparently, it was walking distance from the police department, and it was also Papyrus' favorite place to eat before, during, and after work. You had asked him why, but he had merely laughed conspiratorially from the other end of the line.

“YOU WILL JUST HAVE TO EXPERIENCE IT FOR YOURSELF!” he had exclaimed, “BUT REST ASSURED THAT IT IS PURE CULINARY GENIUS!! AND, AS A SEMI-MASTER-MOSTLY-APPRENTICE-CHEF MYSELF, MY SEAL OF APPROVAL! MEANS QUITE A LOT!!”

So, you had digressed, agreeing to the (ridiculous) time he had set for your meeting. Since he had the day off, you had expected him to want to sleep in a little, but here you were, bright and early at seven A.M, some sweet garbage of a coffee clutched in your grip as you waited for him to appear. Anxiety had made you early (by about twenty minutes), but you appreciated the extra time, because it allowed you to psych yourself up beforehand. It also gave you the chance to wake up a little more.

You had been out with friends before, you kept reminding yourself. Just because the last person you'd spoken to in person on a regular basis had been your manager didn't mean you were going to fuck this up. You would be fine. Everything would be fine.

Still, you remained tense as you sipped your sickly-sweet garbage carefully and watched the budding blossoms on one of the nearby, decorative trees shiver against each other as the branches swayed in a chilled, early-morning breeze. You were almost tempted to reach out and steal a couple of them, but the fact that you wouldn't have anywhere to put them without squishing them kept you from actually doing it.

You still weren't really sure what this drink was called– some kind of mocha... something?– and at this point you were too afraid to ask. You had showed up to the Dunkin' Donuts that you had gone to last time and, luckily, the same barista had been tending the counter. He had recognized you right away, which made you wonder if the employees had been talking about you, or if your behavior had just been _that_ peculiar. It also made you wonder if you should scope out another Dunkin' Donuts to frequent. They were a dime a dozen in the city, after all. In any case, the barista had simply asked if you wanted 'your usual', and you had just nodded with a wan smile, hoping he would blame your quietness on the early hour. He had been perfectly cheerful, either way.

You took another sip and frowned at the pretty pink blooms above you, tinted blue with early morning light. It would be a nice place to relax, if not for the obnoxious sounds of traffic directly behind you, and the smell of smog that hung in the air. Also, considering the hour, there were way too many people rushing by on the sidewalk. Your only comfort was knowing that not one of them gave a single shit about your presence here, and none of them, not even the monsters, glanced in your direction. Living in the city was loud, but sometimes it was kind of nice to feel so invisible.

Especially when you were feeling so anxious that you might throw up. Some alcohol would be _really_ nice, right about now....

In lieu of a proper drink, you downed the rest of your coffee and trashed the cup in a nearby garbage can, then pulled your phone out to pretend to be busy and check the time. You still had almost ten minutes to go.

“HUMAN!” You jumped, almost dropping your phone at the sudden, very close exclamation. Apparently, Papyrus was early, too. You glanced up to see him close the last few feet of distance between the two of you with a few long strides, a huge grin curving his teeth. “IT IS GOOD TO SEE YOU HERE SO EARLY! PUNCTUALITY IS AN ADMIRABLE TRAIT, AND I COMMEND YOU ON YOUR THOUGHTFULNESS!”

You would have responded, but this outfit he was wearing... Your foggy, tired brain needed some time to process it. He glanced down when you didn't speak, following your gaze to his revealing crop-top, splashed with a pastel, tie-dye rainbow and emblazoned with the words, as if painted on, ' _STAR BOY_ '. His spine was visible, as were the lowest ribs of his chest, and he was also wearing pastel-green capris that ended just below the kneecap. His gloves were the same soft shade of yellow as his scarf, which looked to be a thin material with sequins affixed to the ends, and his fashion boots were black and buckled with a thick sole.

“AH, YES! YOU HAVE NOTICED MY IMPECCABLE STYLE!” he chirped, as if pleased. “WHAT DO YOU THINK? INCREDIBLE, RIGHT??”

“I... actually really like it,” you said with an amused huff, pushing off of your bike to stand up straight. “I really like your shirt.” He beamed down at you, which, for some reason, made you chuckle nervously, glancing away as he hummed.

“THANK YOU! I MADE IT MYSELF, OF COURSE.” He gestured to his outfit with a prim smile, drawing himself up proudly before his expression became slightly hesitant. “OR, WELL... I _MODIFIED_ IT... MYSELF. I BECAME BRIEFLY ENRAPTURED WITH TIE-DYE IN MY SECOND YEAR ON THE SURFACE, YOU SEE, AND I HAVE QUITE AN IMPRESSIVE COLLECTION OF MULTI-COLORED TOPS.” You snorted.

“That sounds amazing,” you said, smiling at him. “Did you modify that scarf, too?”

“NYEH HEH HEH, I DID! THE SCARF WAS NOT EXACTLY DIFFICULT. THE FABRIC DID NOT NEED MUCH HELP, SO I SIMPLY ADDED SOME SEQUINS! AND I MADE THESE GLOVES, AS WELL AS THESE STYLISH CAPRIS! ” The hand on his chest dropped to his side. “AND THESE BOOTS?? WELL! THEY ARE STORE-BOUGHT.” He suddenly looked a little sheepish, glancing away, and you couldn't help your sudden laugh. He smiled, shifting in place slightly. “BUT! THEY WERE PURCHASED ON SALE, AND I GOT THEM FOR A VERY GOOD PRICE!”

“They look good on you,” you said without thinking, chuckling as you pocketed your phone. “Your whole outfit looks good, actually.”

“WELL!! THAT–!” He seemed to hesitate, and you were surprised to see color rise in his face, his cheekbones dusted with a faint dark blue. He fidgeted, but didn't break out of his pose. “WOWIE, A GENUINE COMPLIMENT! THANK YOU, I– OF COURSE! OF COURSE IT LOOKS GOOD!” He made a sound like clearing his throat– the noise far more dry than the kind a human would make, almost like a hollow rattling– and he angled his eye sockets away, as if he were nervous.

“A-ANYWAY!” he went on, while you repressed a giggle. You were suddenly more comfortable, knowing you'd flustered him. It was kind of sweet– maybe he had been just as nervous as you were. “I WILL NOT BE BESTED!! TODAY, HUMAN, WE WILL EMBARK ON THE VERY BEGINNING OF OUR FRIENDSHIP JOURNEY! DO YOU SEE THIS RESTAURANT HERE, RIGHT BESIDE US, THE ONE THAT YOU HAVE PARKED IN FRONT OF AND WERE FACING WHEN I APPROACHED YOU??”

He waited, as if he actually expected an answer, so you nodded.

“Yes,” you said through a laugh, and he gestured to it grandly.

“INSIDE THESE WALLS, HUMAN, HIDDEN LIKE A CHERISHED SECRET– ONLY IT IS NOT REALLY A SECRET, BECAUSE! QUITE A LOT OF PEOPLE KNOW ABOUT IT, ACTUALLY!– IS A CULINARY INVENTION UNLIKE ANY OTHER YOU HAVE TASTED BEFORE!” He hesitated again, glancing away skeptically. “UNLESS YOU HAVE... TASTED IT BEFORE, THAT IS... REGARDLESS!” He dropped his hand, drawing himself up primly. “IT WILL SURELY SHOCK AND AMAZE YOU! ...UNLESS... IT DOESN'T....”

“I've never eaten here before,” you reassured him, amused, and he grinned.

“WELL, I KNEW THAT! I WAS JUST UNSURE IF THEY SOLD THIS TYPE OF FOOD IN HUMAN STORES? OR... IF YOU HAD DONE ANY SHOPPING IN A MONSTER STORE AND, SUBSEQUENTLY, SEEN SOMETHING LIKE THIS AND... PURCHASED IT...” he rambled, then turned in place slightly, gesturing to the door before you could say anything. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO INSIDE, NOW?”

“Sure,” you said, shrugging your hands into your pockets as you walked past him.

It was like a diner inside, with booths along the walls, and a long counter at the back, lined with stools. Even though it was so early, there were still a lot of customers, although it seemed that most of the people were lined up at the counter waiting for coffee, and a handful of tables were free. He led you past the line to a booth by the front windows and took a seat across from you, looking absolutely giddy as a human waitress handed you your menus and took your drink orders with a smile.

“I LOVE THIS PLACE,” he said, fiddling with the napkin holder. “IT IS ALWAYS OPEN, AND EVERYONE IS VERY FRIENDLY. I AM SURE YOU WILL LOVE IT, TOO.”

You smiled in response as you lifted your menu, then let your eyes flicker over the Information section on the front, and– oo _oh_. The first page gave details about the type of food sold here, and apparently it was organic food, infused with magic. Enough magic to make it edible for monsters.

“That's interesting!” you commented, glancing up at him. He was already beaming, his menu still sitting folded and untouched at the edge of the table. You assumed it was because he had a regular order, and didn't need to look at it.

“ISN'T IT? I ADMIT, I WAS VERY SKEPTICAL OF HALF-ORGANIC FOOD AT FIRST, BUT IT REALLY WON ME OVER!” The waitress returned with your drinks as he spoke, a strawberry soda for you, and a lemonade for him. She smiled brightly at the two of you and pulled out a tiny notepad with one hand, her other poised in the air with a pen.

“Are we ready to order?” she chirped.

Papyrus did indeed know what he wanted here, rattling off his order for some kind of half-sandwich that came with a bag of chips and a small side of soup, but he asked for the full sandwich instead of a side. Unsure of what you wanted, and feeling a little pressured by the waitress's presence, you ordered the same thing. Just to make things easier. Papyrus looked pleased, almost excitedly so.

“THAT'S THE BEST THING ON THE MENU,” he said in a false whisper when the waitress left, his tone almost conspiring. “IT IS WHAT I ALWAYS GET WHEN I COME HERE!”

You could tell, but you didn't say so, opting to take a sip of your drink instead. You almost choked when it started to disappear in your throat, and Papyrus let out a startled laugh.

“ARE YOU OKAY??” he asked, somehow still sounding concerned, despite his clear amusement.

“Yeah, sorry, I just–“ you coughed again, then grinned at him. “I've, uh, never had a drink with magic in it before.”

“IS THAT SO?” His brows went up a little, and you smiled sheepishly. “YOU REALLY NEVER THOUGHT TO TRY THEM? I KNOW YOU HAVE NEVER TRIED OUR ALCOHOL, BUT I WOULD HAVE PREPARED YOU IF I HAD KNOWN YOU HAD NEVER EXPERIENCED ANY MONSTER FOOD AT ALL! ALTHOUGH, THESE DRINKS ARE A LITTLE DIFFERENT THAN ALL-MAGIC DRINKS... BUT ONLY BECAUSE THEY FIZZ WHEN YOU DRINK THEM. MONSTER DRINKS STILL GET ABSORBED.”

“Monster pop doesn't fizz?” you asked with a half-grin, taking another sip. It went down a lot easier this time, now that you were prepared, and it wasn't syrupy like human pop, but it was just as sugary and carbonated. Papyrus was shaking his head as he lifted his own drink.

“WELL, IT _CAN_. FIZZING IS NOT HARD TO IMITATE, BUT IT DOESN'T... FEEL THE SAME? AS CARBONATION. I ADMIT THAT I LIKE IT, BUT SODAS ARE EXTRAORDINARILY BAD FOR YOU.” The idea that he was actually a skeleton health nut made you want to laugh, but you held it in, deciding that if he asked you why you were laughing, you wouldn't be able to think up a polite lie quickly enough. Also, for all you knew, there really were healthy and unhealthy types of edible magic.

“Is all magic edible?” you asked, the question popping into your head suddenly as you considered your drink. Besides, you thought it might be rude to ask how he could feel the fizzing, seeing as he didn't have a tongue or a mouth. The answer to any and all of your questions was probably 'magic', anyway.

“YES, IT IS!” he chirped, and then he suddenly looked... shifty. He glanced from side to side and hummed for a moment, before going on, “ALTHOUGH, EATING SOME OF IT IS HIGHLY... UNADVISED.... ALSO, NOT ALL OF IT... TASTES GOOD... WHEN PREPARED IN CERTAIN WAYS... BUT SOMETIMES, PEOPLE WILL LIE... AND SAY IT'S GOOD ANYWAY.... HMM.” You opened your mouth, but he suddenly brightened, so you took another drink instead. “AND I WOULD ALSO NOT RECOMMEND EATING BULLETS OF ANY KIND! EXCEPT FOR THE GREEN ONES.” You almost spit your drink out immediately, and you would have, if it hadn't disappeared in your mouth.

“What??” This seemed like such a non sequitur that you gave a boisterous laugh, and he smiled confusedly. “Yeah, I wouldn't recommend that either!! Even if the bullets _are_ green!” He huffed an amused burst of air through his nasal cavity, now grinning in earnest.

“THE GREEN ONES ARE SAFE, I PROMISE!” he said, his tone reassuring, and you just grinned with raised brows, willing to accept that this had to be some kind of miscommunication. You weren't sure if you had the energy this early in the morning to set anything straight, but thankfully, he wasn't done talking. “AND THE BLUE ONES ARE SAFE TOO, AS LONG AS YOU DON'T MOVE. THERE ARE ALSO ORANGE BULLETS, AND THOSE ARE SAFE AS LONG AS YOU _DO_ MOVE..." He narrowed his sockets slightly. "SO, I GUESS... YOU _COULD_ EAT THEM? BUT I DON'T THINK ANYONE HAS TRIED?? I AM NOT SURE WHAT WOULD HAPPEN.... ER... THE STANDARD IS WHITE, HOWEVER, AND THOSE ARE _NEVER_ SAFE. TO EAT OR OTHERWISE.”

Yeah, okay, this was definitely a miscommunication. It sounded like he was talking about magical attacks, which was something you hadn't read about in a long time. Probably not since the Barrier broke, and you had binge-read every bit of information about monsters you could get your hands on. And that would mean it had been six years... The information must have just leaked out of your head over time. It's not like monsters used these attacks all the time, though– there had been some kind of decree about magical attacks, and that was about six years old, too. He paused to take a drink of lemonade, and you hummed, making a mental note to do some reading when you got out of work later. You eyed your drink again.

“Is there still caffeine in it?” you questioned, and he nodded. “Nice. It'll help me wake up a little more.” As if to punctuate your statement, you gave a huge, involuntary yawn, and he scoffed.

“I HAVE BEEN AWAKE SINCE WEDNESDAY, AND I AM PERFECTLY FINE WITHOUT CAFFEINE! YOU SHOULD FOLLOW MY... WHAT??” He suddenly appeared nervously self-conscious, and it was probably because you were openly gaping at him, an incredulous sort of smile splitting your open mouth.

“What do you _mean_ , 'what'?” you asked, voice pitching up with amused disbelief. He shifted nervously, setting down his drink and glancing to the side as you barked out an airy laugh. “You seriously haven't slept since Wednesday?? Are you really okay??”

“YES??” he exclaimed, his tone almost definitely defensive, “JUST BECAUSE I AM NOT INFATUATED WITH NAPPING LIKE EVERY OTHER LIVING THING ON THIS... PLANET?? DOES NOT MEAN THAT I AM ANY LESS HEALTHY, THANK YOU! IN FACT!!” He seemed to narrow his sockets, his teeth clicking shut as he drew himself up and looked down at you with... disapproval?? “YOU SEEM TO BE ABOUT AS OBSESSED WITH NAPPING AS MY BROTHER, IF YOUR SLEEPING HABITS ARE ANYTHING TO JUDGE BY!”

“What!” you squawked, almost giddy with amusement, and, “Obsessed? I sleep the normal amount, thank you very much! Eight hours a night!” you said, even though it was rarely true. He made an incredulous noise, and you couldn't help it– you started laughing while he scoffed again.

“THAT IS AN INCREDIBLY– OH, THANK YOU,” you let out another laugh at his abrupt change of tone when the waitress arrived with your orders on a large tray. She smiled as she rattled them off and set them down, and you thanked her as well.

“Of course,” she said, holding the tray at her side as she looked between you with that fixed customer-service-smile. “If you need anything else, just call me over! I hope you enjoy everything!”

“I ALWAYS DO!” Papyrus said brightly, and she nodded at both of you before she vanished to go serve other tables. You were grinning up at Papyrus when he whipped his head around, jovial demeanor vanishing. “THIS DISCUSSION IS NOT OVER– HOWEVER!” And then it was back, his whole expression taking a one-eighty degree turn just like he hadn't been scolding you only a moment before, “SINCE OUR FOOD IS HERE, AND YOU HAVE NEVER TRIED IT BEFORE!” He seemed excited, opening the small bag of chips first with a wide grin, “I SUPPOSE WE CAN PUT IT ON PAUSE. TRY A CHIP FIRST! THE PROCESS FOR BREAKING DOWN THE ORGANIC MATTER IS A LITTLE DIFFERENT FROM THE SANDWICH, AND!” He beamed, lifting a chip as if presenting it like a fine piece of art. “THEY ARE MY FAVORITE!”

“Well, how can I not try them first, knowing that?” you chortled, and he seemed to grow bashful, sockets angling away slightly as he inserted the chip into his open jaw. You couldn't help but watch, curious in spite of yourself, but the chip just... disappeared when it passed through his teeth. “It must be nice not to have to chew anything,” you joked offhandedly before you could stop yourself, picking up your own bag of chips and pulling the bag open as you spoke.

“NYEH HEH HEH, WELL... YES, IT IS.” You gave a sudden, light laugh, and he smiled. “I HAVE NEVER HAD TO CHEW ONCE IN MY LIFE! AND I HAVE NO DESIRE TO KNOW WHAT I AM MISSING OUT ON.”

“Well, that's good, because it's 'nothing',” you said with a chuckle, then took one of the large, folded chips from the bag and hummed as you turned it this way and that. “Hey, do you know what these chips are called?” He lifted his bag to pointedly inspect the label, then glanced at yours.

“ORIGINAL,” he replied without a trace of humor, and you laughed, shaking your head.

“No, no– this,” and you held up the folded chip for him to see. He stared at it with narrowed sockets.

“IT'S... NO??” he said, sounding confused, yet indulging you anyway. “WHAT IS THAT SPECIFIC CHIP CALLED, HUMAN? DOES IT HAVE A NAME? AN OCCUPATION?” His sockets narrowed further in faux-contemplation as you laughed, and he steepled his fingers below his nasal cavity, jokingly hiding his teeth, which twitched as if fighting a smile. “A MORTGAGE?”

“Yes to all,” you said through a laugh, shaking your head again, “I just meant– this specific _type_ of chip, you know, folded. When they're folded like this–“

“A FAMILY? A DOG?”

“–when they're _folded like this_ ,” you went on, only smirking widely in response to his interjection, “it's called a 'wish chip'.” His brows raised, and he hummed in interest. You chortled. “You make a wish as you bite into them. Like this.”

You closed your eyes for a moment and channeled all of your will into a wish for adventure as you put the chip into your mouth. You didn't think this sort of thing really worked, but you kept the wish in mind anyway as you bit down.

The chip popped and crackled as you crushed it between your teeth and against the roof of your mouth, and then it was gone, leaving behind nothing but a salty-potato taste and your raised brows from surprise. Your eyes flew open, and you felt something else, too, something different. It was like the air had shifted just slightly, some cold, phantom breeze brushing against you from every direction at once, and your scalp prickled from it. Papyrus let out a pleased exclamation when he saw your expression, clapping his hands once and chucking.

“THEY'RE ADORABLE, AREN'T THEY??” he asked excitedly, gesturing as if urging you to take another one, “NOTHING BUT THE BEST RECOMMENDATIONS FROM THE GREAT PAPYRUS! I HAVE AMAZING TASTE, AFTER ALL!” You did take another one, grinning delightedly as you crushed it again, and again it popped and crackled into magic and energy, converting directly while still in your mouth. That other feeling didn't come back, so you wrote it off as your body's reaction to the new, magic experience.

“Okay, uh, I fucking love these,” you said with a grin, eating another one after you finished speaking.

“LANGUAGE,” he reprimanded absently, still eagerly watching you eat. Then, seeming to remember that he had chips of his own, he looked down and grabbed a few in his curled phalanges, popping one into his mouth and humming cheerfully. “I CAN HEAR HOW IT CRACKLES WHEN IT'S EATEN BY HUMANS AND MONSTERS WITH... YOU KNOW... FLESH-LIKE CHEEKS AND TONGUES AND WHATNOT. IT ONLY POPS ONCE WHEN I DO IT.”

“'Flesh-like'?” you echoed quietly with a vague sort of grin, but he ignored you, and you weren't curious enough to ask him to clarify. Instead, you picked up your flatbread sandwich and inspected it.

It looked like a veggie-lover's sandwich, though you hadn't actually registered what it was called when Papyrus ordered it. You had just asked for 'another of what he's having'. It probably _was_ a veggie-lover's, though, judging by the amount of greens you could see. Lightly toasted, with tomatoes peeking out from the edges, it looked... really good, actually. You took a bite and made a tiny, surprised sound when it started to fizzle, half of it dissolving on your tongue before you'd even started chewing, the rest disappearing when you swallowed.

“YES??” You glanced up, and Papyrus was watching you again. It looked like he was finished with his chips, and that was fast, you thought. The bag was crumpled and set aside, the sandwich still sitting untouched before him. “IT'S GOOD, RIGHT?”

“Yeah, it's great! You, ha, you didn't say the actual sandwich was going to fizz, too,” you said, chuckling. He hummed.

“MY APOLOGIES, I THOUGHT YOU READ THE MENU!” he joked, and you grinned sheepishly.

“Uh, yeah, I, um, skimmed it,” you admitted, and he laughed, lifting his own sandwich.

“WELL! IT IS NOT A BAD SURPRISE, IS IT?” You shook your head, watching as he took a bite of his own sandwich, humming. “I LOVE IT. I HAVE NEVER HAD ANYTHING SO... SENSATIONAL?? IT'S VERY INTERESTING. MY BROTHER KNOWS MORE ABOUT THE LOGISTICS THAN I DO, BUT THE FIZZING IS ACTUALLY ORGANIC MATTER BEING BROKEN DOWN INTO MAGIC, ENOUGH THAT MONSTER BODIES CAN DIGEST IT. IT IS ACTUALLY RATHER EFFICIENT!” You made a thoughtful noise, nodding.

“You mention your brother every now and then. What's he like?” you asked, for the sake of making conversation while you ate. Papyrus scoffed, then paused... He hummed, glancing to the side.

“HE IS A LAZYBONES, ALWAYS NAPPING OR... WELL, I SUPPOSE HE DOESN'T HAVE THAT MANY DUTIES TO SHIRK, ANYMORE, BUT BACK IN THE UNDERGROUND, SANS WAS CONSTANTLY NEGLECTING TO WORK ON HIS PUZZLES, CHOOSING TO SELL ILLICIT HOTDOGS FROM HIS SENTRY STATION INSTEAD.” You grinned in response, wordlessly prompting him to continue while you ate, and he did, in between bites of his food. “HE THOUGHT I DIDN'T KNOW, I THINK, OR MAYBE... HE JUST DIDN'T CARE THAT I KNEW?? OF COURSE WORD GOT BACK TO ME, THOUGH HE SOLD THEM IN HOTLAND, AND I NEVER WENT MUCH FURTHER THAN WETLAND, WHICH IS WHERE UNDYNE LIVED.”

“You've mentioned her, too,” you observed, and he nodded.

“WELL, SHE IS MY BOSS,” he chuckled. “AND SHE WAS MY BOSS BACK THEN, AS WELL, ALTHOUGH... HM.” He contemplated the rest of his sandwich for a moment, then continued, “IN ANY CASE, HE IS... CRAFTY, AT THE VERY LEAST. VERY CLEVER. AND _VERY_ INTELLIGENT, ALTHOUGH HE DOESN'T USE HIS INTELLECT VERY OFTEN. OR... NO, HE _DOES_ , OF COURSE, BUT NOT IN A WAY THAT PROPERLY HARNESSES IT! BECAUSE HE IS SO OVERLY FOND OF HIS FLAGRANT SHENANIGANS! ALTHOUGH, HE DOES ASSIST ALPHYS WITH HER RESEARCH ON OCCASION. OR SO I AM TOLD, AND...” he narrowed his sockets, “BADGERED, ON OCCASION, TO REMIND HIM THAT SHE NEEDS HIS HELP. HE IS A SLIPPERY SNAIL, YOU SEE. VERY HARD TO PIN DOWN.” You nodded, humming.

“I don't think I know who Alphys is?" you said, and he huffed some air through his nasal cavity.

“OH, RIGHT, YES,” he finished his sandwich, then dusted his hands of imaginary crumbs before continuing, “SHE IS THE ROYAL SCIENTIST.”

“What– really??” you asked, and he nodded, suddenly amused again.

“YOU DIDN'T KNOW? ACTUALLY–“ He angled his sockets to the side, still grinning. “PERHAPS THAT IS NOT VERY SURPRISING. SHE IS RATHER... QUIET? SHY. ANXIOUS??” He looked to you again, moving to grab his lemonade. “SHE WOULD BE VERY FAMOUS, IF NOT FOR HER AVERSION TO THE PUBLIC EYE! BUT, ASIDE FROM PUBLISHING HER RESEARCH AND GIVING HER LECTURES, SHE STAYS AWAY FROM IT ALL. I ONLY HEAR ABOUT HER FIELDING INTERVIEWS AND THINGS LIKE THAT FROM UNDYNE, THOUGH. SHE AND I ARE NOT THAT CLOSE. I MEAN– WE ARE! BUT. WE NEVER REALLY HANG OUT ALONE. BUT, THEN, I SUPPOSE OUR INTERESTS DO... DIFFER....” He trailed off a little ominously, and you chuckled.

“It's still really cool that you and your brother know the royal scientist, though,” you said, taking a drink. He let out a prideful sound, straightening up and poising a hand against his chest.

“YES! WELL! I AM A VERY COOL DUDE, NYEH HEH HEH!!” You snickered, finishing your sandwich and nodding.

“The coolest,” this seemed to fluster him, but you ignored it as you lifted your glass again, suddenly remembering something. “Oh! Hey, by the way..." you glanced up and trailed off– he was still collecting himself from your wanton complement, looking away bashfully, his sockets angled towards the table.

“YES??” he prompted, glancing your way.

“Uh, well, I just remembered that I never asked you where to buy monster alcohol?” He suddenly brightened up considerably, and he removed his hand from his chest, bringing both of them up to fist in front of him.

“OH! OF COURSE!” he exclaimed, his enthusiasm throwing you for a moment. He went on, “THEY DO NOT CARRY IT IN MANY HUMAN STORES YET, DO THEY?? I BELIEVE GRILLBY ONLY JUST GOT HIS LIQUOR LICENSE A FEW YEARS AGO, SO I SUPPOSE THAT ISN'T MUCH OF A SURPRISE– BUT! I KNOW OF A FEW MONSTER STORES IN TOWN, ALTHOUGH IT IS BASICALLY EVERYWHERE IN THE MONSTER DISTRICTS. I DON'T EXPECT YOU TO DRIVE THAT FAR, THOUGH. I BELIEVE THE CLOSEST DISTRICT FROM HERE IS ONE? AND IT IS OVER AN HOUR'S DRIVE AWAY. WEATHER PERMITTING.”

“Oh, God, that is completely fine,” you chuckled, “I really love to drive, and I definitely wouldn't mind getting out of town on a day off.”

“YES, WELL, IT IS... A LONG WAY TO GO, ON A MOTORCYCLE,” he hedged uncertainly, then hummed, folding his hands on the table, “UNLESS YOU HAVE... SOME OTHER, SECRET FORM OF TRANSPORTATION?”

“Ha, no, um,” you glanced away while you took a drink, almost sheepish. “It's a little annoying when it gets cold, but I'm used to it by now. And I drive for hours at a time, some days, I mean–“ you hesitated, glancing up at him. He was still smiling, but it looked tense, like it had yesterday when he'd eyed your bike in the parking lot. You huffed out a chuckle. “Uh, you know that day you called me....” but you trailed off, uncertain.

“I HAVE CALLED YOU ON SEVERAL DIFFERENT DAYS, AT LEAST!” He joked when it seemed like you weren't going to continue, giving you a patient smile. You chortled, but you were suddenly nervous, changing your mind about what you had been about to confide with him.

“Yeah, you've called me a lot,” you said, shifting gears. “It's, uh. Actually, it's been kind of nice?” The tension seemed to drain from his expression, and he hummed. You went on, “It kind of... brightens my days. A lot. It might be weird to just _tell_ you that, but–“

“IT'S NOT WEIRD AT ALL!” he exclaimed suddenly, cutting you off, “IN FACT, IT IS... NICE TO HEAR.” His smile softened a little and, suddenly anxious, you grinned into your drink, which was mostly just ice now, all melted and clustered at the bottom of your glass.

“Well... good!” you said, giving a nervous laugh. “Good, then– I'm, uh, I'm glad!”

“AND, IF YOU REALLY WANTED TO TAKE A TRIP OUT OF TOWN ON YOUR DAY OFF. I COULD DRIVE YOU?” You glanced up cautiously, but he was looking out the window, observing the cars as they passed. “IT WOULD HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL MY NEXT DAY OFF, UNLESS YOU ARE WILLING TO WAIT UNTIL I GET OFF SHIFT... BECAUSE MY NEXT DAY OFF ISN'T FOR ANOTHER TWO WEEKS.” He sent a glance your way and huffed an amused breath through his nasal cavity, but ignored the way you were gaping at him, incredulous, “I WOULD ENCOURAGE YOU TO SWITCH SOON ANYWAY, AND JUST BUY FROM ONE OF THE SHOPS I RECOMMEND TO YOU?”

“Uh, hang on, okay, back up?” You asked, a disbelieving laugh behind your voice. “Did you just say your next day off isn't for two more weeks?? _Why?_ ”

“WELL, IT ONLY MADE SENSE,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone, his expression only solemn for a brief moment before your eyebrows shot up. It seemed to amuse him further, and his sockets crinkled slightly. “I RARELY NEED TO SLEEP, AND I WOULD MUCH RATHER SPEND MY TIME WORKING THAN ENGAGING IN... _LEISURE_.” He said the word like a curse, narrowing his sockets, and this conversation was kind of blowing your mind right now. If your eyebrows could go any higher, they would.

“You know what?” you said, shaking your head and chuckling. “Alright. You do you, but to me, that sounds... I dunno, soul-crushing??” He scoffed, but his teeth twitched up into a grin.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” He said in a rather knowing way.

Before you could respond, your waitress came by with two pitchers, offering a refill, and the two of you thanked her when she filled your glasses, somehow managing to take your empty plates and Papyrus' empty chip bag as well. She whisked away to the next booth, collecting a few stray empty plates on her way back to the counter, and the two of you fell silent for a moment. Then, you hummed suspiciously. Her presence had made you remember your chips, and you took one out, eating it in one quick bite. Papyrus chuckled, and you offered him the bag.

“We can split the rest of them?” you asked tentatively, and he made a quiet, pleased sound, but hesitated.

“ARE YOU SURE? YOU DON'T WANT ALL OF THEM?” You shook your head, grinning, and shook the small bag insistently. “NYEH HEH HEH, ALRIGHT. THANK YOU!” and with that, he reached out and took a few chips from within, eating one right away with a tiny 'pop' that was barely audible, which was probably why you hadn't heard it before now.

“I, uh,” you hesitated, then ate a chip to fill the silence, staring resolutely at the table instead of Papyrus' face. “If you want to drive me to one of the monster districts, that'd be... pretty cool. I mean, I'd be cool with that, it might be. Fun. Um. I mean, you don't have to– if I shop at one of the places in town, I probably won't... go.” you mumbled, then ate another chip, letting a silence stretch between you. Papyrus hummed eventually, when it was clear you were finished speaking. His hand entered your vision, reaching into the chip bag to take another one.

“WELL... ACTUALLY... UNDYNE IS ALWAYS TRYING TO ORGANIZE SOMETHING ON ONE OF MY DAYS OFF,” he said slowly, “IF YOU WOULD RATHER GO TO A MONSTER SHOP IN TOWN, WHICH I WILL BE MORE THAN SUPPORTIVE OF! AND YOU WOULD THEN NOT WANT TO GO TO A MONSTER DISTRICT–“

“Well, it's not– that's not it–“ you said, anxiety rising, but he quickly went on.

“NO, I UNDERSTAND!! I JUST MEAN– IT IS A LONG TRIP, JUST TO PERUSE THE WIDER SELECTION OF ALCOHOL, QUOTE UNQUOTE, AND. IT IS. ON TOP OF A MOUNTAIN.” You glanced up at that, blinking.

“District One is the Capital?” you asked, and he nodded. “I guess I should have known that. I just always figured Final Home was, I dunno... separate from the monster districts?”

“WELL, IT IS ONLY ONE OF THE CITIES ON THE MOUNTAIN. MOUNT EBOTT WAS ACTUALLY FAIRLY HEAVILY POPULATED IN THE BEGINNING, IF YOU REMEMBER?” You nodded, and he smiled thoughtfully as he observed the cars and pedestrians outside. “AND IT IS... A VERY BIG MOUNTAIN. IT IS NOT NECESSARILY A DISTRICT OF THE CITY ITSELF, BUT IT ALWAYS GETS LUMPED IN WITH THE MONSTER DISTRICTS BECAUSE... AT WORK, WE PATROL ALL OF THEM.” He suddenly glanced your way, the look on his face becoming slightly mischievous. “I GET TO DRIVE THE BIG TRUCK FOR THAT. THEY CALL IT AN ALL-TERRAIN VEHICLE, BUT... IT IS A LITTLE TOO BIG FOR FINAL HOME ITSELF, AND FOR MANY OF THE MONSTER TOWNS ON THE MOUNTAIN. STILL... ON THE MAIN, HUMAN-MADE PATHS, IT IS... A _LOT_ OF FUN.” His expression became decidedly wistful, and you grinned.

“Do you get to do that often?” The smile on his face melted away as he scowled lightly, shaking his head, and you chuckled.

“I AM MOST OFTEN PATROLLING EBOTT CITY ITSELF. IT IS WHERE THE MOST CRIME HAPPENS, AND... DISTRICT ONE IS MORE FOR WHEN I NEED... A BREAK, I SUPPOSE,” He said, humming anxiously for a moment before continuing proudly, “WHICH IS NOT OFTEN!”

“Wouldn't want to engage in _leisure_ ,” you joked with a fake shudder, and he smiled appreciatively, nodding.

“WHICH REMINDS ME, OF COURSE, OF YOUR TERRIBLE SLEEPING HABITS,” he said, and you mock-groaned, taking a drink of your fizzy, strawberry pop. “BUT, BEFORE MY INCREDIBLY WELL-INFORMED LECTURE... WHAT DO YOU SAY? WOULD YOU LIKE TO COME UP TO FINAL HOME WITH ME SOME TIME?” You hesitated, blinking, and he went on, his sockets angling to the side while you set your glass down. “UNDYNE WOULD MOST LIKELY COME ALONG. AS I SAID, SHE IS ALWAYS TRYING TO GET ME TO... PARTY??” You chuckled, and he continued, smiling at you, “AND ALPHYS WOULD ALSO BE THERE, OF COURSE. SHE AND UNDYNE ARE ENGAGED.”

He said it so casually, like he wasn't telling you that his boss and good friend was going to marry the royal scientist. Your eyebrows begged to differ with his blasé tone, but he plunged on, either not noticing your expression, or choosing to ignore it.

“AND, IF HE IS FEELING UP TO IT, YOU MAY ALSO GET TO MEET MY BROTHER, SANS,” he finished, then swirled his lemonade thoughtfully. “I DON'T KNOW WHAT WE WOULD BE DOING IN FINAL HOME– AND WE MAY NOT EVEN GO TO _ACTUAL_ FINAL HOME, BEING THAT IT IS AN EVEN LONGER DRIVE. FINAL HOME IS JUST... A SHORTHAND FOR DISTRICT ONE? A LOT OF MONSTERS USE IT WHEN THEY JUST MEAN MOUNT EBOTT...” You hummed when he trailed off, grinning.

“I mean– that's a lot of people at once, but it sounds like fun! I love road trips.”

“NYEH HEH HEH, GREAT!! THEN I WILL SPEAK TO UNDYNE LATER, AND WE CAN SET SOMETHING UP! I THINK YOU WILL LIKE EVERYBODY– UNDYNE IN PARTICULAR IS A VERY ENTERTAINING DRUNK, AND ALPHYS BECOMES VERY TALKATIVE. AND I KNOW THAT THEY WILL LIKE YOU, BECAUSE _I_ LIKE YOU! AND I HAVE VERY GOOD TASTE IN FRIENDS!” He beamed at you, and you blinked in surprise, but before you could properly react, he was already continuing, “AND I WILL OF COURSE CALL YOU WHEN YOU ARE THROUGH WITH WORK, TO IRON OUT THE DETAILS!!”

“A-alright!” you exclaimed, flustered, “That sounds good!”

When the waitress came by again, Papyrus asked for the bill, and the two of you ended up splitting the cost, even though Papyrus insisted he could cover it. You chugged the rest of your drink before you left, though Papyrus had been steadily working through his while the two of you had waited for the check. You split the tip as well, though the only bill either of you had was a five– ten dollars it was, then, and you thought that the waitress was probably going to be pleased. The check hadn't even totaled to thirty dollars.

Out on the sidewalk, you stretched, Papyrus meandering along ahead of you to hover near your bike. You paused nearby, grinning up at him.

“Was there anything else you wanted to do?” You asked, “I still have plenty of time before I need to get ready for work. If– you know, if you're not busy, you could just... show me one of those monster shops? If you want–” His expression had already lit up, and he grinned broadly at you.

“YES, I'D LOVE TO!” He exclaimed, “YOU CAN FOLLOW BEHIND ME, AND I CAN RECOMMEND SOME BRANDS TO YOU!”

“Sounds good,” you said, then unlocked your saddle bag to fetch your helmet. “I'll see you on the way, then!”

“YES, OF COURSE,” he took a step back, turning to head to his car, which was parked only a few spaces away. Driving out here at the crack of dawn had allowed you some nice parking spots, at least. “OH! ACTUALLY, BEFORE WE GO,” Papyrus hesitated, and you glanced towards him, hands grasping your helmet, which you'd already half-lifted from your bag. “I ALMOST FORGOT TO ASK– WHAT DID YOU WISH FOR?”

“Ha... what?” you asked, grinning confusedly at him. He smiled, chuckling.

“YOUR 'WISH CHIP',” he clarified, and your expression must have brightened with recognition, because his smile widened. “WHAT WAS IT YOU WISHED FOR?” You laughed.

“Ah, no, no,” you said, your tone playfully chiding. “It's a human tradition, I can't tell you that!” Papyrus huffed some air through his nasal cavity, but he was still smiling while his brows creased curiously.

“AND WHY NOT?” he asked.

“Well, If I do, it won't come true, of course!” You replied with a grin, and though Papyrus scoffed, he relented with a chuckle.

“THEN, I HOPE THAT YOU WISHED FOR SOMETHING REALLY GOOD!” he chirped with a nod, “AND I HOPE IT COMES TRUE FOR YOU, WHATEVER IT WAS!”

“Hmm, yeah,” you said, gaze wandering back to the helmet in your hands. “Me, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i heard [Thank You by Dido](https://youtu.be/hQiipuDbbxw) on the radio the other night, and it made me think of this story. it's... almost perfect!
> 
> thanks for reading! it's storming as i publish this *w*


	7. Breathing it out slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “YES, WELL. EASY-PEASY AS IT MAY BE, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU WOULD CONSIDER DUMPING THE REST OF THAT BOTTLE OUT NOW, WOULD YOU?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **big warning** for Alcoholism and violent outbursts. the beginning of this chapter might upset some people, or it might stress you out? sorry in advance.
> 
> anyway!!! the lovely [Gilded_Pleasure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilded_Pleasure/pseuds/Gilded_Pleasure) drew [Papyrus' outfit from the last chapter](https://www.deviantart.com/gildedpleasure/art/STAR-BOY-800396554)!! it's amazing, and i love it <3 you should go check it out! along with the rest of their art, because it's all great :3
> 
> i'm a little unsure about this chapter, but i really don't know how else to write it. i hope it reads okay, and i hope it doesn't seem rushed. the next chapter will be more fun to read, and then the trip up mount ebott will happen in chapter nine! or, that's how it should go, if everything goes according to plan, but chapter eight was originally supposed to be the second half of this chapter. i just thought it was out of place, after how heavy this one is? it felt more natural to separate this and have it stand alone.

“Eyyyyy, it's Papyrus!” you said when you answered the phone, laying back on your couch, your fourth glass of wine clutched in your free hand. Your head was propped up on a folded blanket, for comfort and to make it easier for you to sip from your glass, and your legs were crossed at the ankles, almost touching the other arm of the couch. “Eyyy _yyyy_ ,” you said again, feeling a more than a little silly, and more than a lot happy to hear from him.

“YES, HELLO!” Papyrus exclaimed in a chipper tone from the other end of the line, and you chuckled, already taking another sip from your glass. “YOU'RE DRUNK! I TOLD YOU YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO CALL ME WHEN YOU TRIED THAT BOTTLE!”

“Oh, uh,” you glanced towards the kitchen, where you had tucked the bottles of monster alcohol you had purchased with Papyrus after your trip to Mira's. You'd gone to one of the monster shops in town, one 'Lupe's Liquor and Lotto', owned by a kindly old wolf monster who was about as talkative as you'd expect an elderly person to be, human or not. You had ended up spending more time in there than you'd intended, too polite to cut him off or leave, and interested in his stories about life in the Underground in spite of yourself. His grandson used to throw enormous blocks of ice for a living, apparently, and if that wasn't a story you wanted to hear the details of, then you weren't sure what was.

All of the alcohol had been made by an old barkeep from his hometown, apparently, one fire elemental he'd mentioned in passing at Mira's named Grillby. The bottle he was talking about was one he'd bought for you and insisted that you not look at until you'd gotten it home. It was a surprise, apparently, and one of his favorites. You hadn't checked it, faithful to your word, but after work you had been so caught up in your routine that you'd gone out and bought a bottle of wine anyway.

You had considered putting it away and trying the monster alcohol first, but you figured you could always try the other stuff later, and while you had the bottle here, you just. Couldn't resist drinking it.

“Yes. Well.” You gave a prim little 'hem-hem' and tilted your head back in a snooty fashion, even though he couldn't see you. “I have not done that thing. That you said. I have done a different thing.”

“YOU TRIED THE TINY BOTTLES??” he asked, tone slightly less upbeat, and you hummed suspiciously.

“Well. I was going to,” you said, then cleared your throat again, “But, I mean. I bought some wine, accidentally.”

“ACCIDENTALLY,” he parroted, tone now entirely flat. You snickered.

“Accidentally on purpose! Eyyy _yyyyy_ ,” you paused to take another sip of your wine, grinning, “I mean, I can just try the monster stuff tomorrow, you know what I'm sayin'??”

“WELL. YES, THAT IS TRUE,” he said slowly, and then, “HOW MUCH OF THAT WINE HAVE YOU HAD?”

“Uhhhhh, half,” you said with a grin, narrowing your eyes. He waited, as if for clarification, then hummed.

“HALF... A BOTTLE?” he asked, and you giggled.

“Yiss,” you said, tone lilting up playfully as you glanced over at the bottle in question. You were actually a little more than half-way through it, with the size of the glasses you were pouring.

“HOW BIG IS THE BOTTLE?” Uh oh. This sounded like his 'scolding you' voice. Your expression twisted with glee and you sat up slowly, setting your glass down as you snickered again.

“Are you _mad_ , mom??” you asked, tone incredulously amused. He huffed.

“ALRIGHT. HERE WE GO, I GUESS.”

“Well, I'm _sorry_ ,” you said, though your tone suggested you weren't sorry at all, and you checked how large the bottle you were drinking from was. It was a one-and-a-half-liter bottle, the biggest one they sold– at least, it was at the liquor store you frequented. Unless you wanted to spring for the jug, which was a little out of your price range. “I didn't know I was gonna get in _trouble_ ~.”

“WELL, I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE GOING TO RUN OFF AND BUY HUMAN ALCOHOL AFTER WE ALREADY WENT SHOPPING FOR THE MONSTER KIND! WHICH, IF YOU REMEMBER, IS _NOT_ POISON!” he exclaimed, as if exasperated, and you chuckled, barely able to take this situation seriously. A twinge of regret tickled at the back of your mind, but you chased it away with a long drink of wine after you replaced the bottle on the table. “HOW IS IT YOU PAY FOR THAT APARTMENT OF YOURS, ANYWAY?” he was saying as you finished your drink and started pouring another, “YOU HAVE NEVER MENTIONED A ROOMMATE!”

“Aw, the landlord goes easy on me, cause I'm so charming,” you said in a sickly-sweet tone, chuckling as you paused to take another quick sip of wine. “Besides,” you went on conversationally, exhaling from your most recent drink, “He doesn't get on my case too often about bein' late... One time I didn't pay rent 'til the middle of the _month_ , and it took me _three months_ t'get back on schedule, but other than a strongly-worded letter, he didn't really _do_ anything, y'know?”

Papyrus was silent for a long moment, so, after taking another drink from your glass, you plunged on.

“It's really not that big'a deal, Papyrus,” you said dismissively, swirling your drink and turning your bleary gaze on the black screen of the television. “I'll drink the monster stuff tomorrow after work, an' I don't work on Tuesday, so I'll crack open that big bottle on Monday night! Easy!” You paused for his response, but when it didn't come right away, you took another quick sip, then went on, “Easy- _peasy_ , even!”

“YES, WELL. EASY-PEASY AS IT MAY BE, I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU WOULD CONSIDER DUMPING THE REST OF THAT BOTTLE OUT NOW, WOULD YOU?” His tone lifted, as if he were joking, but even in your drunken state, you could tell it was half-hearted. You stopped swirling your drink.

“Ha, well,” you chuckled, tone quirking up jokingly, “I dunno, Pap, the sink's _really far away_... an' I'm _super_ comfy.”

“HMM-HMM, WELL, IN THAT CASE! I COULD SIMPLY COME OVER AND DO IT FOR YOU!” He said, and you set your glass down, humming.

“Listen,” you began, but either he didn't hear you, or he was ignoring you, because he abruptly cut you off to keep speaking.

“I AM NOT EXACTLY IN THE AREA, BUT I CAN BE IN ONLY TWENTY MINUTES!” Your grin became a grimace, and you started tapping your nails against your glass as he went on, your knee bouncing up and down in an anxious rhythm. “AND I WOULD NOT STAY LONG, JUST LONG ENOUGH TO GET SOME WATER INTO YOUR SYSTEM, AND TO GET RID OF THAT WINE YOU ARE SO FOND OF!”

“Papyrus,” you said carefully with a forced chuckle, “You're not dumpin' out my wine.”

“WELL, IF YOU ARE TOO COMFY TO DO IT, I DON'T SEE WHY I SHOULDN'T!” he exclaimed brightly, and you forced another laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Papyrus,” you said again, your tone a little more firm as you lifted your glass. “You are _not_. Dumpin' out. My wine.”

“YOU SAID YOURSELF THAT YOU HAVE THE MONSTER ALCOHOL RIGHT THERE!” he went on insistently, but you shook your head again, then took another drink to steady yourself.

“No, that's for tomorrow,” you said stubbornly, and Papyrus hummed disapprovingly.

“YOU DON'T NEED TO DRINK ALL OF IT IN ONE NIGHT,” he said flatly, and you huffed, your knee bouncing faster.

“Those bottles are _tiny_ , Papyrus, there's not enough for me to even catch a _buzz_ ,” you shot back irritably, “Which you're killing, by the way. Right now.”

“THEY'RE MAGIC ALCOHOL, THE SIZE OF THE BOTTLE DOES NOT MATTER!” Papyrus replied, scoffing. “YOU HAVE NEVER EVEN HAD A MAGICAL BUZZ, SO HOW WOULD YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT TAKES?”

“Okay, maybe I don't,” you grit out through your teeth, then exhaled a huge breath, “Can we not talk about this?? It's just wine, it's not like I'm drinking something stronger!”

“IT IS AN ENTIRE BOTTLE OF WINE,” he said, “WHICH YOU NEVER DISCLOSED THE SIZE OF, BY THE WAY!”

“Okay, it's a one-point-five-liter bottle!” you snapped, gesturing widely with the hand holding your drink and hissing when you spilled a tiny bit of it. “So what! It's not a big deal, it's not vodka or, or whiskey, or something! It's _wine_ , Papyrus!”

“IF IT IS NOT A BIG DEAL,” he began, his tone ringing with triumph, and your mood soured further as you took another drink of wine, but it wasn't even helping, and you slammed your drink down as he continued, “THEN IT WON'T BE A BIG DEAL IF I DUMP IT OUT FOR YOU!”

“Are you being serious right now??” you finally asked, incredulous. He scoffed, and you mimicked him in a mocking way, frowning.

“YES, I'M SERIOUS,” he said, “I HAVE TOLD YOU THAT I DON'T ENCOURAGE DRINKING, AND I BELIEVE THAT YOU DRINK TOO MUCH.” You scowled at the carpet, but he went on, “IF DUMPING THAT WINE OUT WILL HELP YOU, THEN–”

“You're _not_ dumping it out!” you exclaimed, cutting him off, and you stood suddenly, even though you were alone in the room. “You're not! Okay?? It's _mine_ , I'm drinking it, and it's almost gone, so I'm gonna finish it, and that's _my decision!!_ You're not _wasting_ my fucking _wine_ , Papyrus!”

He was silent for a moment, and you took the opportunity to continue, glowering at your reflection in the television.

“And you know what??” you went on, voice rising further, “If I wanna ride my motorcycle around on long trips, I fucking will! If I want to ride my bike up the fucking mountain myself, _I will!_ If I wanna drink till I pass out and fucking _drive my bike off a cliff_ , that's _my_ decision, and it's _my life!_ ”

You were breathing heavy now, your eyes tearing up as you glared at your reflection, and Papyrus didn't respond. Someone banged on the wall, and without thinking, you grabbed your glass off the table and whirled around, pulling your phone away from your face to violently whip your glass across the room, where it shattered, red wine spilling everywhere, dripping down the wall, pooling in the carpet, and glass littered the floor.

“FUCK _OFF_ ,” you shrieked at your neighbor, storming over to the wall and pounding on it with both hands, “YOU FUCKING BLAST YOUR MUSIC TWENTY-FOUR SEVEN, BUT I'M NOT ALLOWED TO FUCKING _TALK_ TO SOMEBODY?? _FUCK YOU!_ ”

They yelled something back, but their voice was muffled, and your whole body was _buzzing_ , your hands were _shaking_ , your teeth clenched so hard it _hurt_ , and–

Oh, no.

You took a few deep breaths, pressing your forehead against the sticky wall, whole body seizing up when you sobbed once, rolling your head against the plaster, tears leaking out hot and fast as you took a shuddering breath, because–

_Oh, no._

Your hand was shaking so bad, you were gripping your phone so hard it was making your hand cramp. Papyrus was saying something on the other end, but you couldn't hear it, and your heart was pounding. Red wine was all you could smell, sticking in your hair, staining the wallpaper. You breathed in, and you felt sick. You breathed out, and you almost threw up.

Your neighbor hit the wall again, but you pushed yourself away from it, shaking your head again and backing away, lifting your phone and staring hard at it, but you couldn't _see_ , your vision was too blurry, and the tears wouldn't _stop._

You sniffed, running a hand over your scalp and smoothing your hair back as you let out a breathy exhalation, shaking hard even as you lifted your phone back to your ear.

“–ALRIGHT??? HELLO?? I AM ON MY WAY TO MY CAR, IF YOU–“

“I'm sorry,” you said quietly, sniffling again, your voice wavering and higher than normal.

“YOU'RE THERE!!” he exclaimed, and you heard rustling on his end, what sounded like loud, slapping footsteps, “DID YOU HURT YOURSELF?? ARE YOU OKAY??”

“I'm sorry,” you moaned again miserably, walking slowly back to the couch and, “I'm sorry,” you said again as you hesitated next to it, as if you had forgotten how to sit down.

“IT'S ALRIGHT, PLEASE ANSWER THE QUESTION!” he exclaimed urgently, and you heard leaves rustle, more sounds like he was running. “I CAN BE THERE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES, IF–“

“Noo,” you groaned quietly as you slowly lowered yourself onto a cushion, inhaling sharply and choking back another sob, “Noo, no, it's okay. It's okay. I'm sorry.”

“YOU– YOU DON'T NEED ME TO COME BY?? ARE YOU INJURED?” he went on, “I THINK I WOULD FEEL BETTER IF I–“

“Nooo,” you interrupted him and shook your head, sniffling. He hummed anxiously while you took a shuddering gasp of a breath and went on, “I didn't– mean to. I didn't mean to yell, I didn't mean to.”

“I KNOW,” he said calmly, and the footsteps you could hear on the other end of the line slowed just a little, “I KNOW YOU DIDN'T MEAN IT.”

“I didn't mean to _yell_ , I know I sh-shouldn't have _yelled_ ,” you whimpered quietly, leaning to the side and slowly lowering yourself into a lying position.

“I KNOW,” he repeated reassuringly, but before he could go on, you spoke up, pulling your legs up on the couch and curling in on yourself.

“I didn't mean to, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” you sobbed, and “Oh, no,” you went on, curling in tighter and hugging your torso with one arm, “Oh, no...”

“ARE YOU HURT??” he asked again, just the slightest bit breathless, “PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU ARE.”

“I'm not,” you said, sniffling wetly and swallowing, “I'm f-fine, I'm fine. I'm sorry.”

“I KNOW YOU'RE SORRY,” he said, somehow lowering his voice without really... _lowering_ his voice. You inhaled sharply again at the relief in his tone, shaking your head against the cushion.

“Oh, no,” you said again, sniffling gently, “Oh, no.”

“HUMAN...” he was saying, and the loud footsteps slowed, but he seemed anxious as he continued. He took a deep breath, then went on, huffing his breath slightly. “IT'S OKAY. YOU'RE FINE, I AM NOT UPSET WITH YOU.”

“Are you mad?” you asked hesitantly, taking a deep, steadying breath. Papyrus exhaled on the other end, seeming to catch his breath as he spoke.

“NO. I AM NOT MAD AT YOU,” he said. You sniffed.

“I'm really sorry,” you said again, fingers digging into your side. Papyrus hummed.

“I KNOW. EVERYTHING IS FINE, AND I AM NOT UPSET,” he said.

“I'll– I'm gonna go, now,” you said quietly, and Papyrus let out a high, anxious noise.

“NO, NO, DON'T DO THAT!” he exclaimed quickly, “NO NEED FOR THAT, EVERYTHING IS FINE, REMEMBER?”

“I won't do it again,” you said, then, taking a deep breath, you went on, “I'll go, now.”

“NO–“ but you hung up, letting your phone drop to the carpet and rolling over to face the back of the couch.

You heard your phone buzz on the carpet, but you didn't answer it, and after a while, it stayed silent. You cried into the cushion until your eyes were too heavy to open.

Oh, no.

 

→

 

In the morning, you were nursing a hangover and feeling even worse than usual. After you'd managed to lug yourself up into a sitting position, you called off of work, then stared hard at the bottle of wine on the table, at the wine staining the couch from where you'd hurled your glass at the wall. Your eyes landed on the mess of glass and red staining the wall and carpet across the room, and you sighed, hanging your head in your hands.

You had a view of the floor, now, and you spotted your phone, still right where you'd dropped it the previous night, or maybe shifted a little from buzzing with calls. You wondered how many times Papyrus tried to call you after you'd hung up, then closed your eyes against a wave of regret, nausea, and vertigo.

Fuck. You hated this.

You stood up carefully and grabbed the neck of the wine bottle, then stumbled to the kitchen, where you emptied it into the sink, eyes on the paper bag sitting on top of the mini fridge. You stared at it until all of the wine swirled down the drain, then kept your eyes fixed on it when you turned on the tap, only looking down when you were sure there was no red left in the basin. You washed your hands while you were here, trashed the bottle with a tad more force than necessary. The trash was almost full, so it nearly bounced back out, but you grabbed it and forced it down into the bin, huffing when a few wrappers tumbled out.

You pulled the edges of the bag up and yanked it all out of the can, then tied it up and set it aside while you moved to root around under the sink, pulling a fresh bag out of the box. When you'd replaced that, you went wandering to your room, intent on changing out of the shitty work clothes you'd passed out in last night, and you almost tripped over a stray pair of pants on your floor.

Fuck. You _hated_ this.

Scowling, you set about picking up every last piece of dirty clothing from the floor, piling it into your biggest laundry basket, then collecting the dirty clothes in the bathroom, too.

You left your phone where it was laying on the carpet, headed down to the first floor to the laundry room. While you were waiting for your laundry to finish, you stared at the ground, hands in the pockets of your stiflingly-hot hoodie, and you didn't think about anything at all.

About an hour and a half later, you were walking back into your apartment, heavy basket of laundry pressed against your hip as you shouldered into the room and kicked the door shut behind you, tired glare finding your phone. It was face-down on the carpet still, half-tucked under the couch now, as if it had rang a few times while you were out. As if on cue, it buzzed once– a notification of some kind. The idea of checking it settled like a heavy ball of lead in your stomach, and you continued to ignore it, heading for your room instead, where you made a point to actually fold your laundry and put it away for the first time in months.

You were watering down the hand soap in the bathroom when you heard it buzz again, grumbling self-deprecating comments to yourself and seething with unresolved irritation. With a frustrated huff, you slammed the soap dispenser down on the sink, turned off the tap, and marched from the bathroom to the living room, scooping up your phone and glaring at the screen.

It was Papyrus. Because of course it was.

All of the anger slowly drained out of you and, feeling oddly soft, you sank down onto the couch and stared hard at the screen until it went to voice mail. You pressed the edge of your phone against your forehead with a sigh, swallowing your upset and breathing it out slow. Your eyes traveled to the wall you hadn't cleaned yet, the carpet stained with wine, the shards of glass you had been carefully tip-toeing around all day.

Your phone buzzed once in your hand and your gaze traveled back to the screen. When you pulled it away from your skin to check the notifications, you saw eight missed calls, but no voice mails at all. Instead of a voice mail, Papyrus had sent you a text.

Your finger hovered over the screen for a second, and, hesitantly, you opened it.

> **Papyrus  
>  **I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT I REALLY AM NOT UPSET WITH YOU. THESE THINGS HAPPEN, AND I AM WILLING TO ADMIT THAT I MAY HAVE POSSIBLY BEEN... OVER-STEPPING. JUST THE TINIEST BIT. I HAVE BEEN TOLD THAT I AM OVER-BEARING, BUT I WOULD STILL VERY MUCH LIKE TO TALK TO YOU, AND, IF YOU ARE STILL INTERESTED, I WOULD STILL LIKE TO TAKE THAT TRIP UP THE MOUNTAIN WITH YOU.

You had to swallow another lump in your throat, your eyes burning and blurring your vision with tears. You shook your head and pressed the corner of your phone back to your forehead, pressing it down hard to ground yourself. He thought he was over-stepping? You whipped a wine glass at the wall and yelled at him because he had the audacity to... what? Care about you??

Just as you were summoning up the courage to text him back, your phone buzzed again. Wiping away the tears that were spilling over and sniffling, you pulled your phone from your face to check it.

> **Papyrus  
>  **PLEASE CALL ME WHEN YOU CAN. IF YOU WANT TO. I AM AVAILABLE TO TALK WHENEVER YOU ARE READY.

You ended up setting your phone down on the coffee table, staring at it intently, as if it were a ticking time bomb. Instead of calling, you headed to the kitchen and did the dishes that were overflowing in the sink and then, seeing that it was well past noon and realizing that you hadn't eaten anything yet today, you fixed yourself some lunch. It was one of those cheap, frozen meals that were only a dollar each, and you ate it slowly at the coffee table, brow furrowed as you picked at the noodles. You were wishing you had made some ramen instead when something hit the wall on the other side of the room, so hard that it made you jump and whip your head around.

There was silence for a moment, and you watched the wall warily. Then, very loud music started playing, so loud that you could only really hear the bass. You groaned. Of course.

You wondered how long it would take for them to get bored with trying to piss you off as you finished your food, then scooped up your keys from the counter and swept out of the apartment, pocketing your phone on the way. You didn't really have a destination in mind, but that had never stopped you before.

Dragging your feet a little, you meandered to the elevator, only hesitating for a moment in front of Miranda's door. You didn't know if she was home, didn't know what she even got up to during the day. Really, you didn't know much about her at all, aside from the little bits she'd reveal during the short visits you had with her after you dropped her groceries off. You just didn't ask questions, didn't try to pry, but now you were wondering about her, wondering if you _should_ pry, just a little. Was it even really prying, trying to get to know someone you'd been shopping for for almost six months, now?

A thought crossed your mind as you stood there, a sudden desire to knock on her door, just to see if she was home, to maybe... help out around the apartment? Or, maybe you'd just sit with her and drink tea? Was it really okay for you to do something like that, though? Would a surprise visit be alright with her, or would you be intruding?

On Friday, she'd given you a tupperware container full of sugar cookies, and it reminded you so much of the ones your grandmother used to make when you were a child that you hadn't been able to stop yourself from eating them all later that night. You had been planning on just keeping the container until the next time you did her shopping, but maybe you could use it as an excuse to drop in? Maybe you could offer to clean for her while you were there, or maybe she would show you the little garden of potted plants she kept scattered around her apartment, and maybe you could water them for her.

In the end, you kept walking, riding the elevator down to the first floor and walking quickly through the lobby to get outside, to get to your bike.

It was hot outside. You thought about stopping at a thrift store to buy a thinner sweater, but once you were moving, you didn't want to stop. You knew you didn't have the gas money for this, knew that you couldn't stay out all night like you had the last time this feeling had gripped you, but you just didn't care. You kept driving until the needle was creeping towards 'E', only stopping to get gas.

It was getting dark out now, and you were feeling a little stiff. You parked in a space next to the little gas station where you'd refueled, leaning against your bike to watch the traffic go by and check your phone again.

Nothing but app notifications. An email, or two. You opened up your contacts, your finger hovering over Papyrus' name, but....

You pocketed it instead, went inside to buy some chips and a drink. Your eyes lingered on the alcohol, but you were still feeling too sick with yourself to consider buying any, and besides... you still needed to try those monster drinks, back home. You picked out some soda, subconsciously choosing strawberry and frowning once you were outside again, your mind wandering with thoughts about yesterday.

When you were finished eating, you leaned against your bike and just... waited there. It was starting to get dark enough that you knew you would need to go home, soon. You were getting tired, and you worked tomorrow. You couldn't call off two days in a row, especially not so close to your scheduled days off. Besides that, Papyrus' words echoed in your head.... You really _weren't_ being very smart with your money, lately, and rent was due in only a few weeks. You would have to see if your manager would let you pick up a few hours next week, maybe ask if you could put in some overtime.

You watched the traffic go by as the world was bathed in darkness, the streetlights flickering to life and illuminating the streets. When you pulled out your phone again to check the time, it was really late, almost midnight.... You opened your contacts again, tapped on Papyrus' name, then hesitated.

You typed out a short text, finger hovering over send....

No. You couldn't do it.

You stared at your phone until the clock read two am, then closed out of your messages, forced yourself to re-mount your bike. You carefully drove yourself home, hardly able to keep your eyes open.

 

→

 

You didn't end up texting Papyrus until Monday night after work. You had a late shift, and eleven P.M found you slumped back on your couch, staring at the ceiling and reaping your reward for antagonizing your neighbor. Apparently, they were the aggressive type, and they really didn't want to let this go so soon. It also seemed as if they had put their speakers directly against the apartment wall, now, possibly even pointed towards you.

The beat of the music buzzed in the walls, vibrated through the sofa, pulsed in time with your headache. The smell of marijuana permeated the air. You sunk further down into the cushions. It was too hot, but you didn't want to take off your hoodie. You didn't want to do anything, you didn't even want to _be_ here.

Forcing yourself up, you jingled your keys in your pocket, just to make sure they hadn't fallen out. You'd never actually taken them out when you got home, and you were still in your work uniform, but... You really didn't care. You'd only been home a little over an hour, but it was unbearable, tonight, and you didn't even have Papyrus around anymore to call you and make things seem just a little less terrible.

You drove a shorter distance this time, wary of the amount of gas you were using. You didn't want to refuel again so soon, probably couldn't, if you wanted to be able to afford groceries this week. In the parking lot of Dunkin' Donuts, you thought about texting him. You hadn't gone in after pulling into the lot, not in the mood to talk to anybody or drink any coffee, even though you were starting to feel really drained.

You stared at Papyrus' name in your contacts, opened up your messages from him and read them over and over.

You... really wanted to talk to him. It had only been a day– actually two, now, since it was well after midnight. But you were already missing it. Missing him.

Gathering up your courage, you re-typed the text you had been meaning to send yesterday night, hoping he was asleep tonight, yet at the same time, hoping he wasn't.

> **(123)456-7890  
>  **Are you awake?

You stared at the screen, heart pounding slightly, and you almost jumped when his reply came only a few seconds later.

> **Papyrus  
>  **YES, I AM! DID YOU READ MY OTHER MESSAGES? ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

You hesitated, swallowing the tears that threatened to build up. Slowly, you tacked out your response.

> **(123)456-7890  
>  **Yeah, i did. Is it okay if i call?
> 
> **Papyrus  
>  **OF COURSE!!

You couldn't help the tiny smile that curled at your lips, but forced it away as you hit the call button, hand shaking slightly with trepidation. He picked up on the first ring, and you opened your mouth to speak, but he beat you to it.

“HELLO??” he began, “IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT? ARE YOU FEELING ANY BETTER??" You huffed out a quiet laugh, guilt immediately curdling in your gut, and you shook your head slightly.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, clearing your throat, “Listen, I'm–“

“I KNOW YOU ARE SORRY, YOU DON'T HAVE TO–“

“No, Papyrus,” you chuckled, running a hand down your face, “Just. Let me talk?”

You waited, and, after a moment, Papyrus sighed.

“ALRIGHT.”

“Listen,” you said again, taking a silent breath, “You didn't... You weren't in the wrong the other night, okay? I was being... I was drunk, and I got... defensive...” You trailed off, rubbing at your eyes and then staring hard at the traffic that was going by. A dog monster in a pink tank top was chatting amicably with a human in the parking lot, both hovering near their cars as if they had been about to leave before they spotted one another. “I'm sorry I yelled at you, and I'm sorry I got so... angry. You didn't do anything to deserve that, and you weren't... over-stepping. _I_ fucked up. Me. Not you, and...” you hesitated again, eyes traveling over the street, lingering on a flickering street lamp at the corner. You could see the bugs crawling on it and fluttering around it from here. “You didn't deserve that,” you murmured again, directing a frown at the concrete, “and I'm sorry I made you feel like you did something wrong.”

There was a long silence on the other end, and then, when it was clear you were finished, Papyrus hummed fondly.

“THANK YOU,” he said, and then, “CAN I ASK... MAYBE I SHOULDN'T,” he hesitated, and then, “WHY _DID_ YOU REACT LIKE THAT?”

You hesitated for a long moment, eyes glazing over as you stared into the parking lot, not really seeing what was in front of you. It might have been too long, because eventually, Papyrus made a disgruntled sort of noise, shifting gears.

“YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME, I–”

“No, it's...” fine? Was it, though? You weren't really sure if you wanted to talk about this, you could already feel your discomfort rising with the topic. Because you weren't an alcoholic, you _weren't_. You couldn't be, because you weren't _like_ that... but...

You sighed.

“It's fine,” you said, shaking your head, “I just, uh. I get... defensive...” you trailed off, taking a slow, quiet breath as you let your gaze drift to the stoplight. It always seemed to be red, in this city, whenever you came to one, whenever you looked up. You let out a frustrated noise, scratching at the back of your head idly. “There's... it's...” you huffed, “When you... kept insisting, like that, it made me feel like. An alcoholic,” you admitted, voice low. He was quiet on the other end, listening, “I'm. I'm _not_ , but. Whenever people act like that around me, try to tell me what to do... it just... reminds me of... it makes me feel like they're _comparing_ me to... somebody else.”

Your frown deepened, and you made an involuntary, disgusted noise.

“I hate it,” you mumbled, running a hand over your face, “that's all. I hate being compared to... I hate feeling like... that's what people think of me. I'm not an alcoholic, okay?”

He was quiet for a moment, and then he hummed.

“OKAY,” he said, and you let out a slow breath, some small amount of tension leaving you.

“It doesn't excuse my actions,” you went on, “I'm not, you know, I'm not trying to make excuses. Just explaining. I don't want you to...” you rubbed at the back of your neck nervously, glancing to the side, “I don't want you to walk on eggshells around me, alright?”

“THAT WOULD BE DIFFICULT, SINCE I AM SURE THAT YOU RARELY COOK,” he quipped, and you snorted, grinning in spite of yourself.

“I'm– I'm serious, okay?” you said, even though you were trying not to laugh, “I don't want you to feel like you have to watch what you say when you're talking to me. Okay?”

“OF COURSE,” he said, tone growing slightly fond. The tension coiled in your chest suddenly broke, and then, “DO YOU NEED TO BORROW SOME STAIN REMOVER?” he asked. This startled a laugh out of you, and you almost cried from relief, shaking your head. Then, you _did_ start crying, tears leaking out in spite of yourself.

“Um, maybe,” you said, sniffling a little and taking a shaky breath as you wiped at your face. Your voice was tight with emotion as you continued, “I think you'd be proud, though, um. I cleaned up my apartment, yesterday.”

“OH, DID YOU??” he actually did sound pleased, voice lilting up slightly. You snickered, sniffling again.

“Uh, well, actually,” you said, glancing slyly to the side, “I still need to vacuum... and dust... and wipe down the counters, and clean the carpet, and I forgot the bag of trash in the kitchen, and–“

“SO, WHAT YOU ARE TELLING ME HERE IS THAT YOU ARE A HUGE LIAR, AND YOU ACTUALLY DID THE BARE MINIMUM?” he asked, his tone more teasing than chiding. You snorted, grinning broadly as you nodded at the concrete.

“I mean, I did the dishes,” you replied, and he chuckled on the other end, “And I did my laundry.”

“I GUESS THAT WILL HAVE TO BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR NOW, THEN,” he said with a sigh, and you smiled, wiping at your face again in the darkened parking lot. “AT LEAST IT IS A LITTLE BETTER THAN IT WAS, BEFORE.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it gets worse before it gets better...  
> but, it also gets better before it gets worse.  
> i guess everything is just a matter of time, huh?
> 
> thanks for reading. :3


	8. Everybody needs a break sometime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I UNDERSTAND! FIRE OF YOUTH, ANIME NONSENSE, YES, I GET THE IDEA!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i can finally tag undyne as a character, even though it's been painfully obvious that she would eventually make an appearance! i started this bullshit, though, and i'm not going back on it now. also, this is the longest chapter, so far! i think! it was almost longer, but i cut it short.
> 
> i don't have much else to say, but my predictions from the last chapter were Very Wrong. the trip up mount ebott is not happening in the next chapter, and i am apologize. i underestimated how much still has to happen. if i had to guess at this point, i'd say......... chapter eleven?? (but i probably just shouldn't guess...)  
> in my defense, this chapter wasn't originally going to be from papyrus' perspective, so less was going to happen?  
> anyway,,,  
> here we go!  
> OH, ALSO!!! there's more art for this!! >w< [Gilded_Pleasure](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilded_Pleasure/pseuds/Gilded_Pleasure) drew [Papyrus' first meeting with Reader](https://www.deviantart.com/gildedpleasure/art/DRUNK-HUMAN-802666425), and i love it! so, you should definitely check that out!! >:3

Unwittingly, Papyrus had allowed himself to get carried away with talking to you, and it was almost four A.M, yet you had been in some random parking lot this entire time. He scoffed after he hung up, though he was smiling in spite of himself. He pocketed his phone, and it readjusted to the available room in the pants pocket of his powder blue sweat pants, creating a cavity of space to rest in while he didn't need it. He couldn't believe you would hang out in some parking lot until four A.M. At least you didn't work tomorrow, but he was still disappointed.

He leaned against his red convertible, gazing up at the stars for a brief moment of peace while he waited for your text. There was still time left before his shift started tomorrow– enough time for him to head home and check on Sans, if he wanted to. They had only just finished their last call a few hours ago, but it would not hurt to go home just to see him, to check if he was asleep, and if he was sleeping soundly or having... nightmares. They didn't seem to happen as often here on the surface, but they still occasionally plagued him. And, if Sans did not get enough sleep, he would become disconcertingly sluggish.

Not that he was not already slug-like, even _with_ the proper amount of sleep.

Papyrus grinned, then busied himself with spotting constellations. It was something he had learned from Sans, back when he was still a babybones. His brother had sat him down with star charts he had acquired from Asgore-knows-where, pointing out the different star formations. He had of course memorized all of them, and though he had not seen those charts for years, he had seen the night sky enough in the last six that he could pick out any constellation just from looking.

It wasn't exactly one of his interests, not that space wasn't Very Cool. However, things that were important to Sans were also important to him, and space was, for some reason, extremely important to his brother. It was something he found interesting, something that captured some fantasy of his, something that seemed impossible but existed anyway, no matter how intricate or self-contradicting it was. Papyrus could appreciate it for this, even if it did not spark the same zeal in him that it did in Sans. The stars, on the other hand, were something he adored. He was about as taken with them as any other monster who had always dreamed of seeing them. Wishing on them had been a part of monster culture even before they had had _real_ stars to wish on.

Beautiful, tiny, twinkling things. Papyrus gazed up at them and suddenly felt like making a wish.

Before he could, his phone chirped at him from his pocket, a tinkling little music box melody playing behind the sounds of birds tweeting. He pulled the brick of a phone from his pocket, checking the screen to see that it was you.

> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **I just got back home! Safe and sound.
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **SPLENDID. YOU SHOULD IMMEDIATELY GO TO SLEEP, AND ALSO THANK YOUR LUCKY STARS THAT YOU DON'T WORK TOMORROW!

There was a pause between his message and your response, long enough for him to imagine you opening his message and snorting or snickering, hunching your shoulders in on yourself. While he waited for you to text him, he looked back up at the night sky. There was light blue on the far horizon, but out here at the park, the stars were still visible in the inky blue darkness above him.

> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **Lol, i do that every time i have a day off. You should get some rest too, you know... whenever that has to happen for you??
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **NOT FOR ANOTHER DAY OR SO, I IMAGINE. I AM RESTING RIGHT NOW, HOWEVER, JUST LEANING AGAINST MY CAR! THIS WILL BE ENOUGH UNTIL I NEED TO ACTUALLY SLEEP.
> 
> **DRUNK HUMAN  
> ** If that's how it works for you! Honestly, i'm a little jealous. If i barely had to sleep, just think......  
>  Of all the youtube videos i could watch......
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **OF COURSE YOU WOULD THINK OF THE LEAST PRODUCTIVE WAY TO WASTE YOUR TIME.
> 
> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **Least productive??? Youtube is a valid media source!! Maybe i'm watching news videos and stuff about politics! Maybe i'm watching informational college lectures or something!
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **ARE YOU?
> 
> **DRUNK HUMAN  
> ** :3c  
>  No.
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **THEN???
> 
> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **LOL

He was chuckling, grinning broadly. Papyrus was so glad you had called him, so glad you had decided to keep talking to him. He would have left you alone, of course, had you decided never to contact him again, but...

To make a friend and then lose them so quickly.... He would have really missed you. Not many humans seemed to want to be friends with him, for reasons he could not fathom. His human co-workers were also not exactly friendly. Not because he was a monster, or anything, at least that's what it seemed like. They were just... hostile people? The type whose idea of humor made no sense to him, the type who joked about beating people up, about shooting people. The type he could not see himself getting along with, and the type he didn't really _want_ to be friends with. And, though there were many monsters in the city, everyone was so spread out that making and keeping friends like this was somehow... difficult.

Or, maybe it was just that they did not want to make time for _him_. Sans... didn't seem to have as much trouble. Although, he did frequent Grillby's, and he was... likable. In a way that Papyrus...

His phone lit up again with a notification, and he looked down gratefully, glad to be distracted from that troubling line of thought.

> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **I am actually going to go to bed, though. I can barely keep my eyes open.
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **AND YET YOU DROVE YOURSELF HOME.
> 
> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **Yyeah, i know.

He hesitated, suddenly nervous. He knew you told him not to watch what he said around you, but he couldn't help the nagging urge to scold you for being reckless. His fingers twitched over the buttons, but you were already responding, removing the need for him to say anything on the matter.

> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  ** I didn't mean to stay out so late, lol.  
>  Just wanted to talk to you for a while... Cause i kind of missed you.

Oh.

> **DRUNK HUMAN  
> ** Thanks, anyway. For stuff.  
>  I need to go to sleep, but call me tomorrow?
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **OF COURSE! GET YOUR REST, HUMAN. YOU HAVE A LOT OF CLEANING TO DO TOMORROW!
> 
> **DRUNK HUMAN  
>  **Lol, right, i forgot. Good night!!
> 
> **(123)456-7890  
>  **PLEASANT DREAMS.

 

→

 

“Is your human friend coming up the mountain, or what??” Undyne demanded as soon as he got on shift that morning. It was cloudy today, not the kind of clouds that threatened rain, but the fluffy, white ones that blocked out the sun and created a lumpy sort of blanket that covered the sky. Papyrus was just entering the motorpool, keys in hand as he headed towards his squad car, and Undyne was following close behind, taking long strides that matched his own.

They were almost exactly the same height, give or take a few inches, though Papyrus was a bit broader in frame. Both of them were dressed in their short-sleeved uniforms, a deep black against the pale-gray backdrop of the large garage, its lanes filled with police vehicles of differing shapes and sizes. Undyne's uniform bore two silver bars on the sleeve rather than chevrons, and her shiny badge named her as Captain, the optional hat poised on top of her head like a crown.

Though Undyne appeared to be lean, her muscles were hardened like steel, sinewy and hidden beneath a layer of hardened, blue scales that shimmered in the sunlight. Large, shark-like teeth peeked out from between her lips, stretched into a smile that was unnervingly wide, especially when it was paired with her single, enormous and yellow eye. She wore her bright red hair up in a ponytail, her bangs flipped forward today to slightly cover her missing eye, which was further hidden behind a black eye patch on which she had emblazoned a police star. She had done the needlepoint herself, although Papyrus had offered, and it looked very good despite her lack of skill. Across the star were the carefully stitched letters, 'M.E.C.P.D'.

She leered up at Papyrus now, as he nodded.

“YES, I THINK SO,” he was saying, still marching towards his cruiser, “I... FORGOT TO HASH OUT THE DETAILS, BUT THEY SEEMED EXCITED BEFORE, AND THINGS SEEM TO BE SMOOTHED OUT, NOW.” Undyne bounced energetically ahead of him, shark teeth pulled up in a grin.

“Yes!!” she exclaimed, pumping her fist once, as if in victory. Papyrus lifted his keys as he neared his cruiser, but she quickly slapped them out of his hand, cackling at his slightly disgruntled expression as they clattered to the concrete floor. The two of them came to an abrupt halt, and Undyne continued speaking, “Nope! We're riding together, and guess which patrol we're on??”

“WHICH ONE? LITTLE EBOTT?” he asked idly, bending down to retrieve his keys. Undyne shook her head.

“No!!” she yelled, and she grabbed his keys from him after he had straightened up. He reached for them in vain, hands barely lifted before she held the keys in both hands, body turning as if she were about to hurl a baseball at breakneck speed. She even lifted one leg to bend in a perfect pitcher's pose.

“I HAVE TO RETURN THOSE– OH, ALRIGHT,” she had already whipped them across the garage, where they landed an impressive distance away, hitting the opposite wall and falling to jangle sadly against the concrete. He huffed. “I?? AM GOING TO NEED THOSE TOMORROW?? WHY–” She suddenly whirled him around to face her, and he blinked in uneasy surprise as she shook him.

“Don't worry about it!” she yelled, then dragged him towards the fabled Big Trucks, parked a few lanes down. There were four of them, the huge pick-up trucks all arranged neatly in a perfect row, the hubcaps on their off-road tires gleaming in the fluorescent lighting. “I'll replace 'em! It's whatever!!”

“ARE WE GOING TO DISTRICT ONE??” he asked, excited in spite of himself. He really liked the Big Truck, and he _really_ liked driving it up the mountain.

“Yep!” she exclaimed, dangling the keys within his reach. He moved to snatch them, but she was faster, her good eye widening slightly as she chuckled. “Wow, you almost got 'em!! It's been a while since you drove this thing, huh??”

“THREE WEEKS AND SIX DAYS,” he recited immediately, and she snorted, leading him right up to the driver's side. “I HAVEN'T REALLY NEEDED THE BREAK.”

“Yeah, but we're scoping shit out today!!” she said, dangling the keys for him again. His brows knit together worriedly, and he hummed.

“WE ARE ON DUTY....” he trailed off uncertainly, and she scoffed.

“There's SO MANY COPS IN EBOTT, Papyrus!!” she yelled brightly, jangling the keys again with a wicked smile, “We're still patrolling!! It's just! No crime even _happens_ up there!!”

“THAT'S... TRUE,” he admitted with narrowed sockets, as if he were unwilling to agree. She grinned, victorious.

“Then we'll just scope places out while we patrol!! Come ooon,” and she waggled the keys tantalizingly. He hummed again, but grabbed them– this time, she was not fast enough to avoid him, and he yanked them right out of her hand. She looked positively gleeful, fisting her hands in front of her.

“WELL... WE... WE ARE PATROLLING, FIRST AND FOREMOST,” he insisted, ignoring the determined fierceness in her expression as he unlocked the door and pulled it open, “AFTER ALL, I WOULD NEVER THINK TO SHIRK MY DUTIES! THOUGH... IF WE... _HAPPEN_ TO SEE A COOL HANG OUT... WE CAN MARK IT DOWN, AND AFTER MY SHIFT–”

“ _I'm_ the boss, Papyrus!” she shouted, slapping his back a tad aggressively in her excitement. It sent him lurching forward and she laughed apologetically, rubbing the back of her head.

“YES, AND YOU ARE A _TERRIBLE_ BOSS,” he quipped, hiding his grin as he quickly hoisted himself up into the driver's seat, already vibrating with excitement.

“What??” she squawked, backing up a few paces and then simply vaulting over the truck rather than walking around it, yanking open the passenger side door with gusto. He was able to unlock it just in time, saving the hinges, and he breathed out a silent breath of relief as she hopped up into the cab. “I'm the _best_ boss! We're _slacking off_ today, Papyrus, that's what good bosses _do!!_ ”

“NO, THAT IS WHAT TEENAGERS DO,” he said jokingly, and she snorted violently, reaching up to buckle herself in. Papyrus had already secured his buckle and started the engine. As soon as hers was in place, he started pulling out of the motorpool.

“We're still doing our civic duty!” she exclaimed as they waited to turn out onto the street. “It's called public relations! Or something!”

“YOU JUST WANT TO PLAY IN THE WOODS,” he said in a faux-chiding tone, shaking his head. She snickered harder, and he continued, “YOU WANT TO PRETEND LIKE YOU'RE DOING GOOD WORK, WHEN REALLY YOU ARE JUST AVOIDING RESPONSIBILITY.” She made a dismissive sound, leaning back in her seat and kicking her feet up on the dash.

“Everybody needs a break _sometime_ , Papyrus,” she said, “when was the last time you even went up the mountain–”

“THREE WEEKS AND SIX–”

“ _No_ , I mean–” she snorted, shaking her head, “Just to _go up_ the _mountain??_ To see the monster towns, spend some time out of this crap-hole of a city??” Papyrus thought for a moment.

“ER... FOUR MONTHS, TWO WEEKS–” Undyne cut him off with a loud scoff, and he stared ahead at the street, finally able to turn into traffic. This hulking thing was less than maneuverable on city roads, and he was aching to be outside the city limits.

“And how long did you stay??” she asked, even though he knew she was already privy to the answer. She was the one who had approved the vacation request, after all, was the one who had insisted he take an extra day, ' _just to enjoy himself up there_ '. He let out a blustery, put-upon sigh.

“FIVE DAYS,” was all he said, and she hummed victoriously, like he had just proven her point. Feeling a tad moody, Papyrus did not respond, drawing himself up primly and focusing instead on driving out of the city. Undyne was quiet as well, her smug grin trained on the streets as they drove through town, her one, critical eye watching each individual person.

“I WENT UP THERE FOR GYFTMAS, TOO,” he said abruptly after a long moment, and Undyne snorted at his petulant tone, “ _AND_ FOR FRISK'S BIRTHDAY.”

“Yeah, and you only went up there last time 'cause they had that accident,” she drawled, rolling her eye and glancing over at him, “I bet they'd like to see you again. Alphys and _I_ still visit all the time!”

“WE TALK ON THE PHONE,” he said, perhaps a tad defensively, and Undyne chuckled.

“It's different, you dweeb,” she replied, leaning her chin against her fist and staring out the window. “You can't _bond_ with someone over the phone! You can't share _life-changing moments_ over _text!_ You can't form _unbreakable friendship bonds_ when you're a _million miles away!!_ ” She was working herself up now, fisting her hand on the arm rest, her face scrunched up passionately, “NGRAAAAHHH!! THE FIRE OF YOUTH, PAPYRUS!!” and she whirled around, fisting both of her hands in front of her, “THE FIRE OF _FRIENDSHIP!!!_ ” She suddenly lashed out, as if she were going to punch the center console.

“NO, NO! NO NEED FOR THAT!” Papyrus exclaimed nervously, as he swiftly grabbed her hand without taking his eyes off of the road, absorbing her attack and keeping her from destroying the very expensive equipment, which would most certainly cut their trip short. “I UNDERSTAND! FIRE OF YOUTH, ANIME NONSENSE, YES, I GET THE IDEA!” his brows furrowed slightly in anxious concern, and she blinked, as if waking up from some spell. She took her arm from him, and he replaced his hand on the steering wheel.

“Haha, whoops! Got a little carried away there,” she chuckled, almost seeming sheepish, and he let out a high, anxious sort of noise.

“YOU ABSOLUTELY DID!” he chirped, and she snorted.

“Well, the _point_ is!” she started again, once again fisting her hands in front of her like an anime character, “You gotta live a little, Papyrus! We're gonna have so much fucking _fun_ this weekend–”

“NEXT WEEKEND.”

“–Next weekend! That you're gonna want more days off, I promise!” she said, grinning at him, and he hummed vaguely.

“I DOUBT THAT,” he chuckled, slowing to a stop at a red light, “BUT YOU CAN CERTAINLY TRY AND MAKE ME!”

As soon as the words left him, he knew he would regret saying them, but he could not take them back. A glint of determination shone in Undyne's gaze again, and he held in a groan, turning his nervous focus entirely on the road.

 

→

 

It was dark by the time their shift ended, and the sky was turning swiftly to inky blackness as Papyrus pulled into the motorpool. He drove with a forlorn sort of solemnity, although Undyne read the opposite beside him– she was practically bouncing in her seat, almost jumping out of the truck before he had even come to a complete stop in the parking space near the back of the garage. He made sure to align the truck neatly with the others and then took a moment to say goodbye to it. He stroked the steering wheel sadly with one gloved palm. Who knows when he would let himself drive it again?

“Hey, Papyrus,” Undyne began as he climbed out of the driver's side. She was holding her hands out for the keys, and he handed them to her casually, closing the door behind him with care. “I'll check this thing in, you go get changed and... head home??”

“PROBABLY,” he said, and she grinned.

“Yeah, whatever! Gonna go to Mira's first, huh? Didn't get your fix today??” her single eye narrowed teasingly, but he hummed thoughtfully.

“WELL... MAYBE,” he said, and it sounded more like he was already planning on going. He glanced around, eye sockets turning decidedly shifty, “I CAN ALWAYS ORDER SOMETHING TO TAKE HOME...”

“Ha, I bet... but I wanna fight somebody!” she said abruptly, grinning fiercely at him. “Let me kick your ass, Papyrus!!” He huffed some air through his nasal cavity, shaking his head.

“EVEN IF I WANTED TO SPAR RIGHT NOW, I DO NOT HAVE AN ASS TO KICK,” he said, and she tutted. He would train with her, normally, but he really did want to get something to eat. Also, he had not had a chance to call you yet today, and it was getting late. Even if he _had_ found some time to call you, he probably wouldn't have, with Undyne right there. Even texting was dangerous, with her so close, ready to pounce at any moment and commandeer his phone. “LESSER DOG DOES NOT WANT TO SPAR WITH YOU ANYMORE, BY THE WAY,” he tacked on, and she balked in surprise, blinking her large eye at him owlishly.

“What??” she squawked incredulously, “Why???” Papyrus merely shrugged, placing his hands on his hip bones as they walked.

“MAYBE BECAUSE YOU ALWAYS GET CARRIED AWAY WITH YOUR WANTON SCREAMING AND DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY,” he said chidingly, then glanced around shiftily, suddenly nervous. “NOT THAT... THERE IS ANYTHING _WRONG_ WITH THAT....” She huffed.

“Well, whatever!” she grumbled, expression furrowing as she stared at the tile beneath her feet. “Who else is on shift tonight.... Oh! Hey, by the way, I wanted to ask you something!” she exclaimed suddenly, as if she had just remembered, although it almost sounded rehearsed. He looked at her expectantly, silently prompting her to continue. “I wanna meet this human friend of yours, Papyrus!! Next Saturday is a REALLY LONG TIME to wait, so let's set up a day and I can have lunch with them or something, okay??”

Papyrus blinked at her, glancing away nervously.

“WELL... I DON'T HAVE A DAY OFF UNTIL–”

“Oh, come on, we _have_ a lunch break!!” she insisted, slapping him lightly on the shoulder, “If they're not busy, we can go tomorrow! Or something!!” Papyrus paused to think about it. You _had_ mentioned that meeting everyone at once might be a lot, even if you hadn't specifically said so.

“THAT MIGHT BE GOOD, ACTUALLY,” he said slowly as he considered it, narrowing his sockets in thought, “I CAN SEE IF THEY'RE FREE... I STILL HAVE TO TALK TO THEM ABOUT THE TRIP NEXT WEEKEND, ANYWAY, SO–”

“Great!!” Undyne exclaimed, eyes shining as she gripped the keys in her fist. “Let me know what time we're taking lunch, then!”

“ _IF_ THEY ARE FREE,” Papyrus said firmly, and Undyne scoffed, waving him off as the two of them started heading for the doors into the building.

“Of course they are,” she said smugly, “It'll be fun!”

“THEY MIGHT HAVE TO WORK,” he warned, and Undyne sighed dramatically, holding the door open for him. He ducked into the hallway, and she followed.

“Well, then we'll just schedule it for their next day off then! _I guess!!_ ” she huffed, and they paused at the next turn. Papyrus had to split off here to get changed and head home, and Undyne still needed to check the truck back in. “Let them know how great I am, though! Maybe they'll call off to meet me!!”

“THAT WOULD BE INCREDIBLY IRRESPONSIBLE!” he exclaimed haughtily, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully with one gloved hand. He narrowed his sockets. “SO... MAYBE THEY WILL???” Undyne guffawed, a victorious grin splitting her features.

“Hell yeah! Bet I'll see them tomorrow!!” she yelled, then sneered, “And we're going to _Violet's Den_ , okay?? I hate that half an' half crap!” Papyrus parted his teeth, scandalized, but Undyne's expression quickly shifted into a sunny smile as she darted away down the hall, “So just let me know when we're taking our lunch!!” she called behind her as she hastily escaped into the next hallway. With a huff, Papyrus turned and marched away to the left, ducking into the changing rooms.

Once he had finished changing back into his casual clothes, a large and baggy tie-dye shirt that hung loosely over his black shorts, he started heading towards the front of the building. His scarf and glove combo were blue this time, his boots also blue to match.

As he walked through the main lobby, he pulled his phone out, sending a nod to the monster receptionist, a purple humanoid with an enormous hand for a head. She gave one powerful snap with her hand-head, a sound that echoed loudly around the thinly-populated room, then pointed at him with her enormous, pudgy forefinger. He grinned at her, then opened his contacts, calling you without further ado. You picked up on the first ring.

“Papyrus!” you exclaimed, and you sounded... relieved? He tried not to let his concern show in his tone when he responded.

“YES, IT IS I! THE GREAT PAPYRUS!” he chirped brightly, shouldering through the door to the parking lot. He glanced idly at the darkened sky, then out across the expanse of dark concrete. Undyne waved manically from her truck, and he waved back, continuing across the black top towards his sports car. She had not bothered to change out of her uniform, and it didn't look like she was leaving, either. Just retrieving something from the passenger side. “HOW IS EVERYTHING, RIGHT NOW?” You chuckled, but it sounded forced and tired.

“Uh, it's alright,” you said dismissively, “What about you?”

“I JUST FINISHED MY SHIFT!” he replied, mentally figuring out how to steer the conversation back towards your bad mood. Ah, hadn't today been your day off? “AND I AM HEADING HOME, NOW. WHAT DID YOU DO, TODAY? IT WAS YOUR DAY OFF, RIGHT?”

“Uh, yeah,” you mumbled. He could hear a little wind in the background, and his expression tightened slightly as he climbed into his car, dropping his duffle bag on the passenger side. Undyne was sprinting back into the building now, her cackling audible from here. She had a duffle bag slung over her shoulder, a mad gleam in her eye. Papyrus wondered who she was going to fight. “Did some cleaning earlier,” you were saying, chuckling, and it sounded slightly more genuine, “I, um, actually do need to borrow some stain remover. If you were serious about that.”

“OF COURSE I WAS!” he exclaimed, leaning back in his seat, “I CAN BRING IT BY WHENEVER YOU ARE READY FOR IT! ALTHOUGH, I WILL HAVE TO STOP BY MY HOUSE FIRST... I CAN EVEN GET IT TO YOU LATER TONIGHT, IF YOU ARE HOME?” You hesitated, and his suspicions were confirmed.

“Uh, well,” you hedged, continuing haltingly, “No, I'm. Not home. But I will be, later.”

“WELL...” he trailed off, fingering his keys thoughtfully. They jangled quietly, a gentle noise in the otherwise-silent car. “IF YOU ARE ALREADY OUT, PERHAPS... YOU WOULD LIKE TO COME TO MIRA'S WITH ME? I AM GOING THERE FIRST BEFORE GOING HOME TO GET SOMETHING TO EAT. I WAS BUSY IN A DIFFERENT DISTRICT TODAY, SO I WASN'T ABLE TO HAVE LUNCH THERE.”

“Oh! Uh,” you seemed to hesitate, but your tone had lifted slightly. He Grinned.

“I WANTED TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT A FEW THINGS, ANYWAY,” he went on, sockets sweeping the largely-empty parking lot as he spoke, “IT WOULD BE... NICE!” You didn't respond right away, and his smile faltered slightly. He was about to continue, but you suddenly spoke.

“I just,” you seemed to take a breath, “I shouldn't... I haven't been... keeping track of my money, and...”

“I CAN PAY FOR YOU!” he exclaimed immediately, “IT IS NO PROBLEM AT ALL! AND, I WOULD LIKE TO...” _SEE YOU?_ You just sounded so despondent, and... He hesitated, staring hard at the steering wheel for a moment. He couldn't... say that. “I WOULD LIKE TO... HANG OUT, AGAIN. EVEN IF IT IS ONLY FOR A LITTLE WHILE. IT'S REALLY NOT THAT EXPENSIVE, AND I THINK IT WOULD BE FUN. ALSO,” he adopted a joking tone, “IT WOULD BE EASIER THAN CHATTING OVER THE PHONE IN THE STATION'S PARKING LOT!” You didn't respond for a moment, but then you chortled, easing some of his tension.

“Yeah, well... maybe I won't eat. I can still go... If you're already going, I mean...” he could almost see you rubbing the back of your neck nervously, glancing down at the floor. He wondered if you were sitting on your bike, or leaning against it. Had you just finished driving, or had you been sitting somewhere for... a long time? Which parking lot was it that you were you haunting this time, loitering around so late at night? “That would be cool, right?”

“YES, OF COURSE IT WOULD!” he exclaimed, already planning on buying something for you to eat, wondering how long it had been since you last had anything. You drove around so much, most of your money must just go into the gas tank, and if you had been out all day, as he suspected, then, well. You probably hadn't eaten at all. “I CAN MEET YOU THERE NOW, IF YOU ARE IN THE AREA! I WILL WAIT OUTSIDE FOR YOU!”

“Okay,” you agreed. He imagined you were smiling. “I'll see you there, then.”

“YES, SEE YOU SOON!” he said brightly, hanging up with a smile on his face. He started his car immediately, pulling safely out of his parking space and heading for the entrance.

 

→

 

The drive did not take him long– Mira's was not far from the station, and he was there well before you arrived. He leaned against his car, parked almost a block down the street, and he wondered where you would end up parking, wondered if he could find another Mira's location towards the outer edge of the city, maybe one that had a parking lot.

The sky was dotted with stars by now, wispy clouds floating lazily by. There was a slight breeze, a nice break from the constant humidity that had been plaguing the city, lately. It was supposed to rain, soon, but it looked like another clear night, right now. Tiny moths clustered around the streetlamps, clung to the nearby shop windows to be swept off by the broom of an irritable worker, then occasionally crushed underfoot by the human pedestrians marching by, when they could not gather their bearings fast enough to fly away. Some of them had been killed by the broom.

He could feel it, when they died. Little lights being turned off, little flames being snuffed out. Tiny lives, like his, now gone. He was not sure if a bug had a soul, but if they did, it was not like a human's soul, not like a monster's soul. Not even like the soul of an animal, as basic as they were. It was something that, if it did exist as a soul, Papyrus could not parse it; something so innocent in its simplicity that it could not even be pulled into an encounter, could not even be Checked.

He tried to ignore the feeling of their small deaths as he leaned against his sports car, sockets unfocused and unseeing. His bones began to itch slightly. The retail worker shook their broom out on the sidewalk, then pulled a pack of cigarettes from their pocket and headed for the nearby alley. Papyrus looked up instead of gazing towards their crumpled little bodies littering the pavement, their wings, never to fly again, broken and dismembered.

“That's... a bad omen,” it was your voice that startled him from staring upward. He blinked in surprise as he looked at you. Your face was a little flushed, and your hair was a halo of mess around your head, perhaps windblown from running, because you looked exhausted. Bags hung under your eyes, a sheen of sweat had collected across your forehead. Absently, you lifted one arm to wipe it away with the sleeve of your hooded sweater. His brow furrowed as you huffed your breath slightly in front of him, not looking at him, but at the moths in front of the store, and his hands moved almost automatically to his hip bones.

“DID YOU RUN HERE?” he asked, his tone mildly accusing, and you glanced his way, expression becoming almost mischievously amused, although somewhat sheepish, too. You chuckled, a tiny smile lifting the corners of your mouth, and you shrugged.

“Ah, well, I jogged,” you admitted, glancing to the side and eyeing the moths again, “I had to park way down the street... and I saw you waiting here, and you said before that Mira's is close to the station, so...” you rubbed at the back of your head, chortling, but his mild aggravation had already dissipated, his expression softening slightly. “Didn't wanna make you wait any longer.”

“IT'S TOO HOT OUT HERE FOR A SWEATER,” he said, instead of reprimanding you for tiring yourself out. You looked down, lowering your hand from your hair, staring at your fingers peeking out of your sleeve. You blinked.

“Huh, yeah,” you mumbled, shrugging and tucking your hands into your pockets. You grinned wryly up at him. “Fire cannot kill a dragon, Papyrus.”

“I AM GOING TO JUST IGNORE THAT COMMENT, INSTEAD OF DISSECTING HOW EXTREMELY INCORRECT IT IS.” You snorted violently, letting out a short peal of surprised laughter, and his teeth twitched, but he forced his expression to remain stern. “YOU SHOULD PROBABLY TAKE IT OFF, FOR NOW,” he went on slowly, glancing around for your bike. He couldn't even see it from here, there were so many cars parked along this street. “DID YOU HAVE TO PARK A FEW BLOCKS AWAY??”

“Something like that?” you said, twisting to look behind you and making no move to remove your hoodie. He didn't press you, watching as you seemed to slump, “Not really... looking forward to walking all the way back. Ha....”

“DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT, FOR NOW,” he said, stepping forward and ushering you down the sidewalk with one arm towards Mira's. You followed beside him immediately, and he dropped his arm, humming, “WHAT, EXACTLY, IS A BAD OMEN, HUMAN?”

“Oh, uh,” you seemed to glance over your shoulder, then looked back at the concrete beneath your feet, frowning, “Dead moths,” you said, your nose wrinkling. His brows furrowed. “Dead moths are supposed to be an omen of... death, or... just bad luck, I guess.”

“OH... WELL... DOES IT COUNT IF THEY WERE BASICALLY KILLED RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU?” he tried for a joking tone, despite how foreboding your statement was, but it was perhaps a little too forced to be funny, his expression maybe a little too tense around the edges. You glanced up at that, chuckling lightly anyway, and you shrugged again.

“I don't know,” you said mildly, as if admitting to something. He tugged open the door to Mira's, just in time for someone to leave. They nodded their thanks, breezing away, and the two of you entered the restaurant. “Maybe not.”

It wasn't as busy at night as it was during the mornings and the afternoons, and you were able to get the same seats as before, at the booth near the window. You seemed to sink into your seat, sighing in relief at the cool central air, and he tutted, drawing your attention.

“YOU'VE BEEN OUT IN THIS WEATHER ALL DAY,” he accused, seating himself across from you and leaning his skull on one gloved hand, frowning disapprovingly down at you. You only smiled wanly, which made him huff. “ARE YOU FEELING DIZZY? OVER-HEATED?”

“Nah, I don't have heatstroke,” you mumbled, catching on right away and chuckling.

The waitress came by then, a different one from the last time, but still human. She handed you your menus, started to take your drink orders. You looked like you were about to decline your menu, so Papyrus quickly ordered two lemonades and a glass of water, and you frowned at him as the waitress left.

“I wasn't... gonna get anything,” you said vaguely, and he grinned brightly at you, humming.

“WELL, THE WATER IS FREE, AND IT WILL MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER,” he said, collecting your menu with his and setting them to the side, “BESIDES, I HAVE A FEELING THAT YOU HAVE NOT EATEN MUCH TODAY, AND YOU ARE MOST LIKELY DEHYDRATED. AM I WRONG??” You frowned up at him, but he merely hummed victoriously, pushing the water towards you. “YOU WILL FEEL BETTER AFTER A LITTLE FOOD AND DRINK,” he said as he watched you tentatively take the glass, brows knitting together as you stared at it like it was offensive, somehow, “I PROMISE. NEXT TIME, YOU CAN TREAT ME, AND THEN WE WILL BE EVEN!” You scoffed, but seemed to relent.

“Okay,” you mumbled into your glass, then tilted it back and started drinking. He watched smugly as you downed about half of it in one go, pulling it away only to gasp for air. “It's real!” you exclaimed, and he huffed out an amused breath through his nasal cavity, chuckling.

“YOU WERE SO DELIRIOUS THAT YOU THOUGHT IT WAS A FIGMENT OF YOUR IMAGINATION!” he exclaimed, tutting, and you looked playfully upset, grinning and glaring up at him, “IT SEEMS THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE RESCUED YOU FROM THE BRINK!” You snorted.

“Oh wow, you're my savior, thanks so much,” you deadpanned, leveling him with an unimpressed stare as you took another drink of water. He chortled, reaching down to sip from his own glass, now that the mood had lifted. You set yours down, and it was empty now, save for the ice. You crunched loudly on something before you spoke, “I _meant_ it doesn't have magic in it.” His brow merely furrowed in mock-confusion, and he set his glass down, too.

“MAGIC IS REAL, THOUGH??” he said, and you shook your head, chuckling.

“Ah, never mind,” you said through a laugh, grinning up at him. “You're giving me a hard time, and I've had such a shitty day,” and you sighed deeply, though he could tell you were joking. Still, he hummed, concerned, and rapped his phalanges against the tabletop.

“WOULD YOU LIKE TO TELL ME ABOUT IT?” he asked, and you seemed to pause, as if considering. Then, you shook your head, forcing out a laugh and looking infinitely more weary.

“Nah,” you said quietly, “it's... nothing. I wasn't being serious, just. Uh, what about your day?”

“WELL,” he sighed, deciding not to press you for details. You would talk to him if you wanted to, and he would rather not have another argument with you so soon. “I SUPPOSE THAT IS AS GOOD A SEGUE AS ANY!” he exclaimed instead, grinning brightly at you. “I WAS ASSIGNED TO DISTRICT ONE TODAY, AND UNDYNE WAS ON PATROL WITH ME. WE WERE ABSOLUTELY DOING POLICE WORK, AND IT WAS ALL VERY PROFESSIONAL AND BORING!” Your mouth had already quirked up into a smile, and he paused as the waitress returned with your food, smiling as the two of you thanked her, then meandering away to check on her other tables.

“You got to drive the big truck, though, right?” you asked with a grin, fiddling with your bag of chips, “You probably had some fun with that.”

“WELL, IT CERTAINLY MADE THE DAY MORE TOLERABLE, ESPECIALLY WHEN WE MOST DEFINITELY DID NOT DRIVE AROUND SCOPING OUT COOL HANG OUT SPOTS TO POTENTIALLY VISIT ON OUR TRIP NEXT WEEK,” your expression seemed to brighten, and he popped open his bag of chips, immediately starting in on it with a myriad of quiet 'pops'.

“Just how many places are we visiting??” you asked with a laugh, and he hummed, popping another handful of chips into his jaws before he responded.

“A FEW,” he said, as you watched him demolish the bag of chips. “THE LIQUOR STORE, OF COURSE... AND A FEW OTHER PLACES THAT UNDYNE IS PARTICULARLY EXCITED ABOUT. SHE WANTED TO MAKE IT A TWO-DAY TRIP, SO WE COULD GO AND SEE FINAL HOME, BUT I TOLD HER YOU WOULD LIKELY HAVE TO WORK THE NEXT DAY...” he trailed off, and you nodded, your grin looking like more of a grimace now.

“Yeah, I don't usually get weekends off,” you said, chuckling, “And... that reminds me that I still have to actually ask for next Saturday off.”

“YES, YOU SHOULD DO THAT SOON!” he exclaimed, watching as you ate a few chips slowly, then set the bag aside to start eating the sandwich instead. “YOU WOULD STILL LIKE TO GO, RIGHT? I REALIZED I FORGOT TO ACTUALLY IRON OUT THE DETAILS WITH YOU, BUT UNDYNE AND ALPHYS ARE BOTH FREE THAT SATURDAY.”

“Yeah, I want to go!!” you almost yelled after you swallowed a mouthful of food. You paused, then lowered your volume, suddenly a tad nervous. “I mean, I thought that was obvious, I'm sorry. I still want to go.” Papyrus grinned brightly.

“SPLENDID!” he chirped, “THEN, I CAN PICK YOU UP EARLIER IN THE MORNING, AND WE CAN STOP BY MY HOUSE BEFOREHAND? THAT WAY YOU CAN MEET SANS FIRST. UNDYNE WILL PICK US UP FROM THERE– SHE AND HER IMPRESSIVELY LARGE TRUCK ARE OUR RIDE UP THE MOUNTAIN!”

“That's fine with me,” you said, chuckling as you continued to eat. He hummed.

“ALSO,” he went on, drumming his phalanges against his jaw, “I WAS WONDERING– OR, RATHER, _UNDYNE_ WAS WONDERING... WHEN IS YOUR NEXT DAY OFF?”

“Thursday,” you said between bites. You had almost finished your sandwich, and he tried not to feel too smug about being right.

“WELL, IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO HANG OUT THEN, UNDYNE SAID THAT SHE WOULD LIKE TO MEET YOU,” you blinked up at him, finishing your sandwich, “THERE IS A DINER ACROSS TOWN THAT SHE LIKES. THE FOOD IS NOTHING LIKE MIRA'S, ALTHOUGH IT IS STILL GOOD IN THE NORMAL WAY. AND, WHILE IT IS A MONSTER-RUN ESTABLISHMENT, IT DOES ALSO SERVE ORGANIC FOOD!”

“I mean, I'm down,” you said, dusting your hands even though there were no crumbs on them. You paused to take a sip of lemonade, then went on “I wouldn't mind meeting her this week. It might be fun!”

“WELL, IT WILL CERTAINLY BE SOMETHING!” he said, and you snorted while he finally lifted his sandwich, chuckling around the rim of your glass.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	9. All the fanfare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “TRADITION IS TRADITION, ANYWAY.  
> "EVEN IF IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE, AND NOBODY UNDERSTANDS IT.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY LOOK, ONLY A WEEK HAS PASSED, HERE'S AN UPDATE LIKE NORMAL, HA HA HA *sweats profusely*  
> i ended up rewriting the beginning of the chapter four times, and this is the one that stuck. i'm pretty pleased with it, even though some of it feels a little rushed. i'm very sorry it took so long to finish. orz
> 
> in the middle of writing this, my computer suddenly tried to die, and when i booted it back up, it told me there was no hard drive installed, which was... scary....  
> it worked again when i turned it off and on, but i have a spare hard drive from an old laptop that died tragically (and not by my hand, definitely, it wasn't my fault at all), so if it happens again, i should be able to just switch out the hard drives! bada bing!
> 
> anyway, i hope everybody enjoys this chapter!!

Papyrus held the door for you again when the two of you left the restaurant, then walked quietly down the sidewalk towards his car. The moths had been swept away somewhere, but new ones were already fluttering around the brightly-lit window and clinging to the glass. You stared at them idly while the two of you walked, sharing a comfortable silence that seemed heavy with words left unsaid, at least on your part. You hesitated when you reached his car, and he did as well, staring uncomfortably off into the distance, in the direction you had come from. You knew what he was going to say before the words came tumbling out of his mouth, and it was with grace that you let him speak rather than cutting him off and snapping at him, some vague sort of frustration you couldn't understand that had been building inside you all night almost coming to a head.

“YOU KNOW, I COULD DRIVE YOU HOME,” he said, just the right amount of nervousness in his voice to let you know that on some level, he knew he was pushing it, just a little. You smiled anyway, just a thin, wan expression that you hoped communicated how tired you were.

“Nope,” you said simply, chuckling, and he gave a tight smile, almost looking guilty, like he had known what you were going to say, too. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

“I UNDERSTAND,” he said with a mock heavy sigh, and you felt a little bit of tension leave you. He fiddled with something in his pocket, then hummed. “WILL YOU AT LEAST ALLOW ME TO WALK YOU TO YOUR BIKE?”

You thought about it for a moment, glancing behind you down the dark sidewalk, now so sparsely populated that it looked almost foreboding. Some company would be nice, considering how far you still had to walk, and how dark and threatening the alley mouths looked, pitch black maws gaping at random intervals along the street.

“Um... sure,” you said, turning to grin at him again, and his expression seemed to light up. Another tiny knot of tension undid itself, and you chuckled again, shrugging as you turned on the spot. “That'd be nice... but, um, aren't you worried about the walk back?”

Again, you knew what the answer would be, and when he drew himself up proudly and scoffed, poising a hand against his chest in what seemed to be his signature pose, you weren't the least bit surprised.

“OF COURSE NOT! THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS NOT WORRIED ABOUT ANYTHING!” he exclaimed. You hummed.

“Except for me, right?” you deadpanned, and he huffed some air out through his nasal cavity, lowering his hand from his chest and not looking the slightest bit ashamed of himself. He didn't even argue.

“IT IS JUST A (PRESUMABLY) VERY LONG WALK ON A VERY WARM NIGHT ON A VERY DARK STREET, AND I WOULD NOT WANT MY NEW FRIEND TO BE ALONE OUT HERE!” he said, beaming down at you. You moved a little, as if to start walking, and he fell in step beside you immediately. He went on in a rather knowing tone, “MOST CRIME HAPPENS IN THE CITY ITSELF, YOU KNOW. AND AT NIGHT, TOO!”

“Yeah, I know,” you said, a little amusement creeping into your tone. “That's when I do my crimes, remember?”

“AH, YES! HOW COULD I FORGET!” he exclaimed with mock appall, and you snickered.

The two of you chatted back and forth like this for the rest of the walk, which somehow felt much shorter for you than it had earlier, even though you had been jogging. You idly wiped some sweat from your brow as you finally reached your motorcycle, parked almost two blocks down. There was a gentle breeze blowing through the city now, and even though it was warm air, it was a welcome break. You exhaled a quiet sigh, fiddling with your keys and gazing down at the saddle bags on your bike thoughtfully.

“Well, thanks,” you said, turning to look up at him. He was smiling earnestly down at you, hands planted on his hips.

“OF COURSE!,” he said, “AND THANK YOU FOR HAVING DINNER WITH ME, I KNOW IT IS VERY LATE, AND YOU HAVE WORK TOMORROW.”

“It's no big deal,” you said, chuckling, an you scratched idly at the side of your head, “It was nice. Thanks for treating me,” your expression scrunched up with playful annoyance. “Even though I asked you not to.” He angled his sockets to the side, looking somehow sheepish and pleased with himself at the same time.

“ANYTIME!” he said, and you hummed, fiddling with your keys again.

“Well, I guess I'll see you Thursday, then,” you said, and he nodded. The two of you said your goodbyes and parted, though he waited to watch you pull away into the street before he began his trek back to his car. You felt a little bad, wondering if you should have offered him a ride. Then, you remembered how he felt about motorcycles, and it made you snicker into your helmet as you slowed to a stop at the next light.

The idea of Papyrus riding with you on a motorcycle? He'd probably be a neurotic mess the entire time, clinging to you anxiously and commenting on every little thing you did, wanting desperately to drive himself, while at the same time wanting to just _get off of the bike_. You wondered if he ever _would_ ride with you, just once.

The image of the two of you riding through a rain shower on some dreary evening, him holding onto you, and you leaning forward over the handle bars looking cool and focused suddenly surfaced in your mind, and you shook it away. You didn't even have an extra helmet, and there's no way he'd ride without one.

The light turned green, and you drove off into the night, wishing you could keep driving until you reached a place that was just a little colder.

 

→

 

Wednesday seemed to pass in a blur, and Thursday came faster than you anticipated. It was almost enough to make you feel like you'd somehow missed the lunch completely, but when you woke up on Thursday, it was to an excitable Papyrus calling you around noon to chat about the upcoming meeting, and to make sure you had the directions written down. You supposed you were lucky he'd called, because you probably would have just slept through the day if he hadn't and then felt terrible about it later– you'd forgotten to set your alarm the night before, and after you got off the phone with him, you had to rush through your morning routine in order to make it to Violet's Den on time.

You'd never driven here before, either, although you were a little more familiar with this part of town. Violet's Den was a little closer to your apartment than Mira's, and it had a parking lot, which was nice. It wasn't even all that crowded, despite the time of day, and you found a spot near the back of the lot. Papyrus and Undyne were already here, two police cruisers parked in random areas.

You texted Papyrus to let him know you were there, then locked up your bike and headed for the front of the diner. Nervous butterflies had collected in your stomach, and they only got worse when you got inside. The interior had a cozy vibe, like a small town diner in the middle of a city, and it was full of monsters and humans, eating, chatting, a cacophony of sounds that settled like a drone over the building. The ground was tiled, dark violet and white squares arranged in a checkerboard pattern, and behind the back counter was a violet rabbit monster, about the same height as you.

You barely had time to look around for Undyne and Papyrus before a loud, boisterous voice rang out through Violet's Den, attracting the attention of every human customer in the diner, and about half of the monsters.

“Hey, TWERP!!” You whipped around immediately, on reflex, and looked towards the source of the voice.

You saw Undyne first– she was standing at her booth, and she looked to be about as enormously tall as Papyrus, though her hair– tied up in a large, red ponytail– seemed to give her maybe an inch or two on him. Her large, yellow eye was trained on you, and her sharp, shark-like teeth were pulled into an alarming smile. Her other eye was covered with an eye patch that bore a police star, and she and Papyrus were both in their police uniforms, black with short sleeves. Papyrus was seated across from her in the booth across the restaurant, twisted around in his seat and smiling at you nervously.

You gave an anxious wave– Undyne returned the gesture energetically, waving her entire arm as if to flag you down– and started across the diner, well aware that there were many eyes now trained on you, the previous chatter suddenly much quieter.

“Hey!” you said brightly when you got close enough. Papyrus half-stood when you drew up on their table, gesturing between you and Undyne.

“HUMAN, THIS IS UNDYNE, UNDYNE, THIS IS,” he used your actual name when he introduced you, and you smiled at Undyne as Papyrus moved over on his side of the booth to invite you to sit next to him. You did, settling into your seat gratefully. Undyne kept her sharp grin on you, and when Papyrus was done speaking and you were seated, she suddenly lunged in your direction across the table. You flinched back on instinct, and Papyrus seemed to jump next to you, lifting his hand half-way as if to stop her, but she only held her hand out to you, managing to loom over you even from two feet away.

“Nice to meet ya, punk!!” she exclaimed, waggling her hand as if impatient, and you blinked, reaching out to take it.

“Um, you too!” you replied. Her grip was unsurprisingly firm, but also surprisingly careful, and her grin seemed to grow even wider as you shook her hand nervously.

“Ha, yeah, I know!” she said boisterously, taking her hand back and remaining leaned over the table, one hand planted firmly on the tabletop, the other moving to rest on her hip. “Notice how I didn't even crush your hand??” she asked, then threw a narrow-eyed glance at Papyrus, who scoffed.

“AND WE'RE ALL VERY PROUD!” he exclaimed brightly. Undyne snorted, looking almost gleeful as she flopped down into her seat heavily, loosely crossing her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, Papyrus made sure to mention how much more crushable you are compared to monsters about a hundred times,” she drawled, rolling her working eye. You sent a glance Papyrus' way– his eye sockets had gone decidedly shifty– then looked back to Undyne. “Like I don't know that already from experience??”

“THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH BEING SURE!” Papyrus said, tapping gloved phalanges against his glass. It looked like he was drinking lemonade again, and Undyne had a cup and saucer in front of her, some green-tinted drink steaming from inside. You chuckled.

“Yeah, I mean, I guess I'm glad I didn't get crushed?” you said, and Papyrus smiled at you. Undyne scoffed, leaning forward to elegantly lift her tea cup and take a surprisingly dainty sip.

“Yeah, well, I know humans are breakable, alright? I've got a bunch of human friends!!” she said when she was finished, setting her cup down again. She rested her weight on her folded arms, grinning at you. “And since you're Papyrus' friend, that means _I_ have to befriend you, too!”

“Oh, uh–” the violet rabbit from behind the counter appeared then, cutting off your response. She smiled kindly down at you, holding a small notepad in one hand and a pen in the other.

“Are you all ready to order, now that your friend's here?” she asked, and Undyne's attention was immediately on her.

“YES, I THINK SO!” Papyrus said, and you looked between the monsters, slightly panicked, but the rabbit monster noticed your expression and chuckled, handing you a menu that she had materialized from seemingly nowhere.

“Don't feel rushed, dear,” she said, “Everything's made with magic, which means it's prepared ahead of time and ready to go, so you just tell me what you'd like when you're ready, and I'll bring it out for you.”

“Feel a _little_ rushed, though, 'cause we only get an hour on our lunch!” Undyne said jokingly, and you chuckled.

“Don't listen to her,” the rabbit said, shooting Undyne an indulging look, “You take your time.” She held out one fuzzy, purple paw then, tilting her head to the side as she smiled. “I'm Violet, by the way, owner of this diner, here.” You took her hand and shook it, noticing that her fur was extremely soft.

“Nice to meet you,” you said, a tad shy as she ended the handshake, and introduced yourself.

“VIOLET IS ALSO AN OLD FRIEND FROM SNOWDIN, UNDERGROUND,” Papyrus said, “HER CINNAMON BUNNIES WERE A TOWN FAVORITE!”

“More like they were one of the only things to _eat_ in town!” Undyne quipped, laughing, but Violet shot her a narrow-eyed look, and she quickly raised her hands in surrender. “I'm kidding Vi!! You _know_ I'm gonna order like three of 'em, okay?? They're delicious!”

“Speaking of your orders...” Violet trailed off frostily, although she was smirking.

Papyrus and Undyne both relayed their orders– breakfast for Papyrus, some kind of soup for Undyne, with a side of _four_ Cinnamon Bunnies. You weren't sure what to get, and you were still hurting for extra spending money, so you decided to try a Cinnamon Bunny to start, with some cream soda to drink. She noted everything down, then bounced away with a smile and the promise that she would be right back.

“Man, I'm starving,” Undyne commented as soon as she started to leave, “Is that really all you're getting?? Do you want one of mine, or something?”

“Oh– no, I'm just– not that hungry, and I don't really know what I want to eat?” you said, chuckling. She hummed.

“Good, 'cause I ain't sharing! FUHUHUHU!” She laughed uproariously, and you smiled, shrugging.

“WELL, IF YOU WANT ANYTHING ELSE, YOU CAN ALWAYS LET VIOLET KNOW,” Papyrus said, then hummed. “OR... IF YOU WANT SOMETHING OFF OF MY PLATE–”

“That's cute!!” Undyne said suddenly, grinning at Papyrus.

“–JUST ASK,” he concluded, smiling down at you and ignoring Undyne entirely. You chortled.

“I think I'm good,” you said, trying not to be too firm when you said it, wary of ruining the outing, “If I really want something, I'll order it. Thanks, though.” He sent you a dubious look, no doubt remembering what you had said the other day about your money troubles, but was, thankfully, quiet on the matter as Undyne started speaking, grabbing a handful of sugar packets from the container near the salt shaker.

“You ever had all-magic food before, anyway?” she asked as she tore open a packet with her razor-sharp teeth. She readjusted her tea cup, and then just swallowed the entire packet, negating the purpose of opening it. You shook your head.

“I actually haven't,” you admitted, maybe a tad sheepish.

“I BELIEVE YOUR FIRST EXPERIENCE WAS MIRA'S, RIGHT?” Papyrus added, and you nodded at him. “AN INCREDIBLE FIRST FORAY INTO MAGICAL QUIZINE, IF I DO SAY SO–” he leaned over towards you slightly, as if to whisper conspiratorially, but did not even attempt to lower his voice, “AND I DO.” Undyne huffed, tearing open another sugar packet to be devoured.

“At least it's a smooth transition??” she said, as if she were unsure, then started pouring sugar onto the table in a tiny mound. “But,I can't stand Mira's!! It doesn't taste right!” Papyrus let out an irritable noise, straightening up again, and you chuckled. She suddenly shot him a look, and he froze, teeth parted. “Don't you start! You literally only go there because of the chips!!” He made a scandalized sort of sound.

“I DO NOT! I MEAN, THEY _ARE_ MY FAVORITE, AND OF COURSE THEY ARE PART OF THE REASON WHY I CONTINUE TO EAT THERE, BUT! I ALSO APPRECIATE THE–” Undyne blew a huge raspberry, cutting him off, and Papyrus squawked indignantly.

“Bluh, bluh, bluh, the intricate way magic was woven into the - _pthbbbbt_ -,” she narrowed her eye and snickered at him, pouring more sugar onto the small mountain that was forming on the table's surface. “You literally don't understand it at all!! And you don't care, Papyrus!”

“I think it's cool,” you interjected, and Papyrus suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders, as if presenting you to be admired.

“YES!! SEE!! IT IS VERY COOL!” he exclaimed, then let you go abruptly, drawing himself up, “BECAUSE ONLY COOL PEOPLE APPRECIATE IT, AND ONLY COOL PEOPLE GO THERE, THEREFORE MAKING IT COOL BY ASSOCIAION!” Undyne gaped at him, gasping.

“Did you just imply that I'm not cool??” she asked, her tone incredulous despite her lingering grin, and you looked over quickly to see that Papyrus had gone shifty again, tiny beads of sweat coalescing along his brow.

“UM.... NO? YOU'RE VERY COOL, IF A BIT UNAWARE OF THE FINER WORKINGS OF CULINARY GENIOUS, LIKE MYSELF AND MY HUMAN FRIEND,” he gestured to you with an open palm, “BUT! JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE UNABLE TO GRASP THEM DOES NOT MEAN YOU ARE NOT ALSO STILL MY VERY COOL FRIEND AND BOSS!” Undyne's eye widened.

“Oh my god!!” she blustered, “You're saying I'm uneducated!” Her expression sharpened dangerously, and Papyrus looked even more nervous.

“N-NO, I'M NOT??” he looked around wildly, then picked up his drink. “WOWIE! THE WEATHER TODAY SURE IS BEAUTIFUL!” he exclaimed, taking a long sip. Undyne made an odd sound, somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, then returned to her sugar.

“Yeah, it is! Whatever!!” she said, sneering, then her piercing gaze landed on you, and you gave a tiny start. She looked almost mischievous, suddenly. “Hey, let's talk about what a huge stick in the mud Papyrus was being the other day, instead of the stupid weather!” she exclaimed, and Papyrus made a sound like he was choking on his drink.

“U-UNDYNE–”

“Listen, I'm gonna level with you,” she began, gesturing with her hand and accidentally knocking the sugar pile askew. “Oh, crap!” she hissed, immediately distracted, and began scooping the sugar off of the table into her open palm, attempting to pile it back up in the same way again. Before she could continue, or Papyrus could get another word in, Violet returned with your food, all balanced precariously on her arms, and one Cinnamon Bunny balanced on a plate between her large ears.

“Took you long enough!!” Undyne suddenly exclaimed, still carefully piling sugar on the table, and Violet sent her a sweet smile that seemed to promise a swift death.

“Here ya go,” she said, setting the orders down, along with your soda. You thanked her, and the others followed suit. Her smile was a little warmer this time, and she told you to call her over if you needed anything else.

“OF COURSE,” Papyrus said as she hopped away, then started eating the eggs on his plate. There was an enormous pile of what appeared to be diced hash browns, a small plate of toast, and something that looked like bacon. A glance into Undyne's bowl told you nothing about its ingredients. It almost looked like straight-up garbage, of a slightly-milky consistency and color.

“Wh-what are you eating?” you asked her cautiously over the pile of cinnamon bunnies in front of her. She sent you a sharp grin, and Papyrus groaned.

“IT IS A WATERFALL SPECIAL–” he began, but Undyne hushed him.

“You won't tell it right!!” she shouted, waving her hand around at him as if she were going to smack him. Then, she cleared her throat when he gestured for her to speak, and drew herself up importantly. “It's a Waterfall special...” she began, her voice suddenly taking on a story-telling quality. “...called Turtle Soup.... A great warrior named Gerson made it one day, and it tastes fucking _awful_ –”

“LANGUAGE.”

“–but everyone eats it anyway... The end,” she concluded dramatically, then began digging into her meal. You blinked at her, unsure if you should laugh or not, then sent a curious smile Papyrus' way. He shrugged.

“IT IS A WATERFALL TRADITION,” is all he said, and you chortled.

“Ha, okay,” you said, picking up the tiny fork that had been placed on your plate. The end of the handle looked like a tiny bunny head with cute, rounded ears with the initials of Violet's Den on them.

You cooed at it before you took a tiny bite of the Cinnamon Bunny, which was quite literally a rabbit-shaped pastry, covered in cinnamon. It dissolved in your mouth, much like the popping chips from Mira's had, but without all the fanfare, and it left behind a wonderfully-sweet taste, accented with just a shit-ton of cinnamon.

It was delicious.

“It's good, right??” Undyne prompted when she saw your face, and you nodded. “Yeah, I get a ton of them to wash down this _crap!_ ” she exclaimed with a huge smile, and you snorted, to her apparent delight. You almost wanted to ask her why she ate it, if she hated it, but you had a feeling her answer would just be a parroting of what Papyrus had already told you, so you decided against it.

“TRADITION IS TRADITION, ANYWAY,” Papyrus said sagely, nodding, “EVEN IF IT DOESN'T MAKE ANY SENSE, AND NOBODY UNDERSTANDS IT.”

“Ha! Yeah!” Undyne said brightly, then smiled at you again, “Anyway, Papyrus means well, even if he's a huge, pushy jerk about it–”

“UNDYNE!”

“–but don't let him tell you what to do, because he's also pretty lame sometimes!!” Papyrus gasped, and she laughed at him, then suddenly looked concerned. “Uh, I'm kidding, Papyrus!”

“I– I KNOW THAT!” he exclaimed, but his tone made you a little sad. Before you could say anything, Undyne went on.

“Because there's nothing wrong with drinking, right? I mean, that's why we're all here, isn't it??” she leaned forward expectantly, and Papyrus gave a deep sigh, but didn't say anything. You blinked.

“T-to drink?” you asked, when it was clear she was waiting for an answer.

“NO!!” she exclaimed, apparently frustrated, Then gestured energetically with her hands, almost knocking over her tea cup. “To enjoy life! To live in the moment!!”

“O-oh.”

“Right??” she asked, looking wildly between you and Papyrus, who was dutifully eating his meal, looking very prim all the while. “Besides, Papyrus really likes you, and you like him too, right??”

“Well, yes,” you said honestly, and she grinned, as if in triumph.

“Then that means you can't ignore him like you did the other day!” Oh. “You shouldn't ignore your friends when they reach out to you, punk! Because guess what??” You frowned, blinking, and set your tiny, cute fork down.

“What?” you asked, glancing up at Papyrus, who had put his head in his hands, looking supremely uncomfortable, but resigned to his fate.

“NNGRAAA! Because!” she slammed her fists down on the table, grinning manically.

“UNDYNE, PLEASE–”

“Your friends are the most important thing in the world, you doofus!” she yelled excitedly, then slammed her fists down again, making you jump and lift your glass to save it from being jostled. “The most important thing in the WORLD! You have to treat every moment with them, every communication, like something precious that you'll never get back!!”

“UNDYNE, MY GOD.”

“NO!!” she yelled, standing up, “They need to hear this!! You!” She pointed at you, and you smiled nervously up at her, your eye twitching.

“M-me?” you prompted, and she curled her hands into fists, holding them in front of her.

“Yeah! You!! I know all about your human history– Yeah, that's right!!” she shouted at your blank, wide-eyed look. The entire restaurant was looking at her now, some with an air of anticipation, as if they were expecting something. Violet looked about as resigned as Papyrus. “Friendships and magic... the power of Love!! I know all about your frilly bows and ribbons, your magical transformation sequences, just a prelude to the awesome might of your deadly beams of justice!”

“O-okay–” you began, but she plowed on.

“Yeah, I mean, maybe you don't carry around your giant swords anymore... maybe you don't use heart-shaped wands like you used to–”

“UNDYNE–”

“–but you still know how to harness the power of love!! It'll always be with you– it's the most powerful force in the _universe!_ ” she slammed her hands down on the table, rattling her tea cup so badly that the lukewarm, green-ish tea inside splattered all over the table.

“W-what kind of human history have you been reading?” you asked incredulously, because this sounded a whole lot like–

“ANIME!” she shouted, grinning fiercely, “You humans have been really good about educating me further, whenever Alphys and I go to those cool historical conventions!” Oh, God. “I even got pictures with a really cute Mew Mew! Alphys almost _died!_ ”

“NOT LITERALLY,” Papyrus interjected quickly, which you were thankful for, because from Undyne's intensity, you probably wouldn't have been able to tell if she were speaking figuratively or not.

“Anyway,” Undyne gripped the edges of the table, and the restaurant seemed to intake a breath as one, Violet bracing herself behind the counter, the bowl of soup in her hands momentarily forgotten as she paused mid-step to watch anxiously. “The point is this– Papyrus is your friend, and friendship is the most valuable thing you'll ever experience, so you need to cherish it! If Alphys or Papyrus stopped talking to me out of the blue, I don't know WHAT I'd do!!” Her eye suddenly widened, her hands gripping the table harder.

“I– I think it's a little d–” you began, but Undyne cut you off with a yell.

“NNGRAAAAAH!! I'd be so UPSET!! I _LOVE_ MY FRIENDS!!” she yelled, flexing her arms, and the restaurant let out a cacophony of exclamations, ranging from confused to excited.

“She's gonna do it!” a monster with an octagonal head exclaimed from across the room, standing so quickly that his hat fell off.

“UNDYNE, DON'T–” Papyrus half-stood, as if to stop her–

But Undyne was already suplexing the table.

 

→

 

The aftermath of her outburst was, in a word, messy.

The turtle soup was the worst of it, but there was also tea, lemonade, and various pieces of Papyrus' unfinished breakfast littered around the restaurant, along with pieces of plates, glass, and porcelain. Undyne was covered in most of it, and because of the direction of her suplex, you and Papyrus had been spared, but the customers in the vicinity behind her had not been so lucky. Turtle soup had somehow managed to splatter as far as the far wall, and one airplane monster was shaking eggs and potato off of their wings, loudly exclaiming how rude Undyne was being, and how they wouldn't be coming back this time, for real, Undyne _really_ messed up, and they were inconsolably distraught. They ran off crying to the bathroom, but came back about five minutes later when nobody followed, sitting back in their booth with a huff and continuing to eat calmly.

“Haha, whoops! Sorry, Vi,” Undyne had said over the broken remains of the table, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly, like an anime character. “Mop's in the back, right? I'll get it!”

Violet hardly looked like she had planned on being the one to get it, anyway, just going about her business and waiting tables like nothing was happening, although the tense smile on her face begged otherwise. Papyrus ushered you to another empty booth nearby, and you set down your soda quietly, almost in shock while he folded his hands in front of him, sitting across from you now. Violet breezed by not a second later with another cup and saucer, filled with the same tea from before, and another lemonade for Papyrus. He thanked her, and she nodded kindly, already producing two more Cinnamon Buns from nowhere to place before both of you.

“I'll get another breakfast for you, Papyrus–” she began, but Papyrus waved her off.

“DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT, VIOLET, WE ONLY HAVE LESS THAN HALF AN HOUR LEFT ON OUR LUNCH ANYWAY, AND I ATE QUITE A BIT OF MY FOOD BEFORE IT WAS VIOLENTLY LAUNCHED ACROSS THE RESTAURANT IN SCATTERED PIECES!” he exclaimed cheerfully, already taking a small forkful of cinnamon bunny.

“Well, alright, but you two just let me know,” she said kindly, and you smiled up at her as she wandered off to serve other customers.

A silence settled over the table while Papyrus nervously picked at his cinnamon bunny. Undyne clattered out of the back room with a mop, bucket, broom, and trash bag, a huge grin still plastered on her face as she passed your table.

“HEY, I'll be over in a minute!” she yelled to you and Papyrus, already making quick work of the larger parts of the table, disappearing them into the trash bag, where they seemed to vanish. You didn't bother asking, only waving at her weakly in acknowledgment, then lifting your cream soda to finally take a sip. It was really good, and it disappeared instantly like the food had.

“WELL! THAT WAS SOMETHING!” Papyrus exclaimed suddenly, making you jump. Then, you burst out laughing. He snickered at first, then broke out into full-blown laughter as well, his shoulders bouncing with mirth.

Undyne ended up cleaning for the rest of the lunch, but you and Papyrus made small talk over your cinnamon bunnies. When their lunch was almost up, Undyne rushed over to the table empty-handed, not even appearing winded despite having just flash-cleaned half of the restaurant.

“Oh, sweet!” she exclaimed upon seeing her tea, then downed it in one gulp as Papyrus fished around in his pocket, presumably for his wallet. Undyne noticed this, snickering as she set her cup back down gently. “Ha, no way, Papyrus, I totally have to pay for all of this!” she said, and he immediately stopped what he was doing. She chuckled. “Guess I know what I'm doing on Saturday!”

“ALPHYS WILL BE DISAPPOINTED,” he said, and she scoffed.

“No, she won't! It won't take me an _hour_ to fix the booth!” she shouted cheerfully, and Papyrus sent you a dubious look as he stood up that made you grin. “Anyway, I'll meet you guys outside, okay?? I gotta go give Vi a ton of G!”

“Uh– are you sure–” you began quietly, but she only beamed at you before bounding off to the counter. You and Papyrus walked out to the parking lot, and you were immediately assaulted by the heat, groaning.

“I hate summer,” you muttered as you loitered on the sidewalk. Papyrus chuckled.

“WELL, IT IS THE MOST CONTROVERSIAL OF SEASONS,” he commented, and you grinned, surprised he hadn't mentioned your sweater.

“It's also literally the worst,” you said. He shrugged, then motioned for you to follow him to his cruiser.

“I THINK IT'S NEAT,” he said as you drew up on his vehicle, and he unlocked it, then pulled open the passenger door and leaned in to get something. “THOUGH TECHNICALLY, RIGHT NOW IT IS STILL SPRING... BUT I AM A SKELETON, AND HAVE NO SKIN TO SWEAT WITH.”

“You were sweating a little in there, though–”

“FROM THE HEAT!” he exclaimed, cutting you off and making you laugh. He straightened up again, holding a spray bottle triumphantly in his gloved hand, then handing it to you. You gasped, taking it from him carefully.

“Could it be??” you joked, and he hummed.

“YES– I THINK SO??” He suddenly took the bottle to inspect the label, turning it this way and that. Then, he handed it back to you, nodding primly. “YES, IT IS. THE FABLED 'STAIN REMOVER'.”

“Wow,” you said emphatically. You tucked it away in your hoodie pocket, smiling up at him. It was hanging out a little precariously, but the bulk of it was secured. “Thanks.”

“OF COURSE!” he said, drawing himself up with mock importance as Undyne raced over to you.

“Hey, nerd, gimme your phone number, okay??” she said before you could thank her for footing the bill, throwing her arm over your shoulders. You almost burst out laughing, but nodded, pulling out your phone to exchange numbers with her. She chuckled when she saw yours. “Wow, human phones sure are weird,” she said, pulling out a brick-like black phone that thrummed when she turned the screen on. “No matter how many times I see one, it always gets me! I bet you don't even get dimension boxes!”

“You bet I don't even get what?” you asked, but she was already reading off her number, so you didn't bother to pursue it any further, just creating a new contact. You thought about listing her in your phone as 'Officer' Undyne, but hesitated, thinking of her display in the restaurant.

Just Undyne would probably be fine....

“Anyway, it was really nice to meet you!” she said as she pulled away from you and pocketed her phone, where it disappeared just like Papyrus' always did when he put it away, “Next weekend is gonna be a blast– AAAAAHH!!” she suddenly cried out in alarm, her working eye widening. Papyrus jumped.

“WHAT? WHAT IS IT??” he asked, and she face-palmed.

“I totally forgot to bother the drunk human–”

“Please don't call me that–”

“–about the trip!! They don't even know where we're _going_ , do they?” she asked, frowning at Papyrus, who narrowed his sockets.

“OH... I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT IT WAS A COOL, FUN SURPRISE?” he said uncertainly, shooting you a nervous look, “DID YOU WANT ME TO TELL YOU WHERE WE'RE GOING??”

“Oh my God, Papyrus, you didn't even ask??” Undyne exclaimed incredulously before you could speak, and he scoffed.

“WELL! NO!!” and he crossed his arms. You chuckled.

“I, um, I don't mind if it's a surprise,” you said quickly, holding up your hands as if to diffuse things, “I mean, I've never even been up there, so I wouldn't really know where we were going if you told me....”

“Oh!! Really?” Undyne asked, blinking her large eye at you owlishly, “You've never been up Ebott? Wait!! You've never seen Final Home!!” She gasped, looking from you to Papyrus excitedly, but Papyrus shook his head.

“WE WON'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME, UNDYNE,” he said, his tone mildly amused, and she sighed heavily.

“Well, Wooded Haven is cuter, anyway,” she muttered, frowning. Then she sent a sharp glance your way. “If it's a surprise, that means you can't look it up online! Okay??”

“O-okay!” You smiled, and she grinned, apparently pleased.

“YOU CAN IF YOU WANT, THOUGH,” Papyrus said, and Undyne let out an irritable noise.

“No!! They can't!!”

“BUT YOU JUST SAID–”

“Ugh, fine! Human!!” and she turned back to you, then spread her arms, looming over you in a T-pose. “Let's hug, okay?? Until next time! Right??” You stared up at her for a moment, then chuckled, stepping forward nervously and lifting your arms.

“Uh– okay–” she immediately embraced you, straightening up to lift you off the ground and swing you around slightly, and you held on for dear life. Papyrus sighed, but the hug only lasted another second or so before she set you down again, beaming. “Um– thanks–” You felt really awkward, and she barked out a sudden laugh.

“That's a really weird thing to say, but okay!” She turned back to Papyrus, and, “I'm getting back on shift!” she said before saluting, then sprinted away towards her car. He held out a hand, as if to stop her, but let her go, humming nervously.

“YOUR– YOUR UNIFORM–” he called haltingly, and she guffawed with laughter, yanking her door open and snorting.

“I've finished my shift covered in worse!” she yelled, making you narrow your eyes slightly, but again, you didn't pursue it. She sat in her car then, fiddling with something in the center console, and you turned back to Papyrus, who still looked uncomfortable.

“WELL... THAT'S– TRUE, I SUPPOSE,” he said, and you squinted up at him, which seemed to amuse him. He cracked a smile, huffing some air out through his nasal cavity. “NYEH HEH HEH, SHE WILL BE FINE.” He turned towards his car slightly, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I SUPPOSE– I WILL SEE YOU IN A WEEK, THEN, OR PERHAPS ON ANOTHER OF YOUR DAYS OFF?”

“Oh, yeah, we could do something next week, if you want!” you said automatically, and he sent a dazzling smile your way, making you chuckle nervously, “I mean– that'd be fun, you know?”

“YES, OF COURSE!” he said, “SO– I WILL SEE YOU THEN!”

“Yeah,” you hesitated, noticing how he lingered, then awkwardly held your arms out, mimicking Undyne. He blinked his sockets in surprise. “Um– do you– want a hug?” you asked anxiously, glancing away and back a few times, “Sh-should we hug?”

“N-NYEH HEH HEH, I– YES, OKAY!” he said, then leaned down hesitantly and wrapped his arms around you.

It was a lot more gentle than Undyne's hug had been, and a lot less terrifying. It also seemed to last a little longer, both of you lingering against one another. He squeezed you once before letting go, a dark blue blush dusting across his cheekbones when he pulled away and straightened back up.

“A-ALRIGHT, THEN!!” he exclaimed, turning around and bumping into his car before he made a sound like clearing his throat, moving to walk around to the driver's side. “WELL– I WILL SEE YOU AROUND, HUMAN! STAY SAFE!”

“Um, yeah!” you said, your own face flushed as you shuffled in place, grinning like a fool. “You too, okay??”

“I ALWAYS–”

“WOOOOOO!! YEAH, hug it OUT!!” Undyne suddenly hooted from her car, having rolled down her window to yell at the both of you. Papyrus sputtered loudly, climbing into his squad car and slamming the door, and she let out a peal of delighted laughter as she started her engine and pulled out of her parking space.

You waved at her as she went, and then at Papyrus, who still looked very flustered as he pulled out of the lot. When they were out of sight, you returned to your motorcycle, tucking the stain remover safely away in the saddle bags with a smile.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the post-pacifist run where nobody tells undyne the truth about anime. she gets to the surface and a bunch of trollish nerds tell her that REAL human history is all just fanfiction...
> 
> thanks for reading!!


	10. Uncanny valley-esque differences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Was Papyrus cute? He was... unconventional, you guess, being that he resembled a literal human skeleton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kind of killing me that i can't put a papyrus quote in the summary?? even if reader spoke to him in the chapter, he's not really the main focus, though he is talked about.  
> this chapter is kind of the black sheep... i don't think there'll even BE another chapter without papyrus. there's just not much room for one, not in the foreseeable future, anyway.  
> (which is the rest of the story.)  
> anyway, i don't want to spoil what happens, but this chapter DOES get a little heavy.  
> i hope everyone enjoys!  
>   
> also, i was having trouble with imagining the space in each apartment, so i spent too much time making [a simple floor plan for reader's apartment](https://i.ibb.co/RvNvzDV/fp.png), if you want to take a look!  
> 

You woke up early on Saturday to do Miranda's shopping, like usual, and you took the empty tupperware with you when you stopped by to get her list. She sent you off that morning with a brownie, rich and sweet with chocolate icing on top. It gave you a kick-start after skipping breakfast, the chocolate and sugar putting you in a particularly good mood. You felt... good, in general, like things were alright, for once. Hanging out with Papyrus and Undyne had been nice, albeit ridiculous and intense. Despite your reservations, it really felt like maybe these people liked you, and maybe that _wasn't_ such a weird thing. Maybe they _did_ like you, maybe you even had friends. It had been a while since you'd had anyone you could call a friend, and an even longer time since you'd actually wanted to seek out someone's company, or were looking forward to the next time you'd see them.

The thought made you smile.

“Thank you again, dear, as always,” Miranda was saying kindly as she rocked gently in her rocking chair, a cup of iced tea in her hands, another set out for you at the other side of the table, if you wanted it. You were unpacking her groceries in the kitchen, and you hummed loudly enough for her to hear through the archway.

“It's no problem,” you said as you put away the last thing, a box of cereal that she kept over the fridge. You walked out into the living room and sat down with her near the window, in the second rocking chair across the table from her. You wondered if she had people over, sometimes, maybe a friend she played bingo or cards with– you wondered if she played cards. “Thanks for always treating me.”

“Of course,” she smiled warmly at you, then her gaze traveled to the window. “It's the least I can do, since you never let me pay you.”

“You pay me sometimes,” you brushed off her comment, suddenly uncomfortable as you lifted your glass and took a sip. The tea was almost overly-sweet, the kind you'd probably make for yourself. The kind you used to make when you were a kid. “I really don't mind it, though. I'm not going out of my way or anything, so...” you trailed off, shrugging. You didn't really want to tell her that she reminded you of your grandma, didn't really want to explain how, when you'd seen her trying to carry all of those bags from the elevator by herself, you'd felt some phantom twinge of regret, almost as if you were obligated to step in. It was the right thing to do, and besides, it made you feel good to help her out. It made you feel a little better about living here, about drinking, about... a lot of things.

She hummed as she watched the light play over the plants in her apartment, positioned all over the room, and even in hanging baskets that had been hung on hooks nailed to the ceiling. There were flowers of all kinds, even hanging vines that had really flourished this late in the season.

“I have a little time today, actually,” you said slowly, swirling your drink in your glass. It was a lie– you had the same amount of time as you usually did, but normally you spent it doing nothing in your apartment, trying to force yourself into the right mindset to go to work. Somehow, though, the idea of work didn't seem so bad today, and you found yourself wanting to spend time with her, to maybe get to know her finally. “I could... hang out here for a little while, if you're in the mood to talk? Maybe... play cards?” She brightened up slightly, looking delighted.

“Ooh, that would be nice!” She set her cup down and stood up with some effort, hobbling over to the china cabinet on the nearby wall. You half-rose, as if to go in her stead, but she was already grabbing a deck of cards from the open shelves, then hobbling back. “Do you know how to play Rummy? Euchre?” she asked as she sat down again, and you chuckled.

“I've played Rummy before, I think– I might need to brush up on the rules, though.” you said, and she nodded, already pulling the cards out and shuffling masterfully. Ancient lore demanded that, as an old person, she _had_ to be good at card games. You were probably going to lose.

“My grandson doesn't come by as often as I like,” she was saying as she finished shuffling and dealt out the cards– ten for each of you. You felt another stab of distant guilt, but you only nodded, letting out a sympathetic sound. “And my children are the same way. Nobody worries themselves about an old lady like me.”

There wasn't much you could say to that, so you just smiled at her, picking up your cards while she set the deck down, placed the top card down to start the discard pile.

“I hope you visit your grandparents as much as you visit me!” she went on, pretending to scold you, though she smiled playfully. You chuckled nervously, forcing a smile as you stared at your cards.

“Uh, they're gone, actually,” you said, and she blinked in surprise.

“Oh! I'm sorry, dear, it's... you're just so young,” she trailed off and you shrugged, tossing a card out. She ignored it in favor of the deck.

“It's alright, I mean. It was years ago, now,” you said dismissively, and she hummed.

The two of you played in semi-silence for a while, only broken by her reminding you of rules, or the two of you commenting on each others' points. Almost twenty minutes later, you were beginning to worry that the morning had been ruined, and just as you were wondering if you should excuse yourself, she suddenly cackled. You knew why when you looked up– she had just laid three aces down in her point pile, and you let out a scandalized squawk.

“No!” you yelped, and the uncomfortable mood immediately dissolved into a more lighthearted one, “Oh my God, I basically just lose, now!”

The two of you laughed, and the conversation flowed much easier after that. She told you a little about her grandson– apparently, he was a few years older than you, just on the cusp of his thirties, and he worked for a law firm. She asked you if you had any siblings, and when you confirmed that you had one, she asked about your them. You only gave vague answers, mainly their age and profession, eager for the conversation to focus on her, instead. You asked her about her flowers, about her baking, and she was quick to tell you about her hobbies, rambling on as older people sometimes did. You didn't mind, though, it was nice to be able to just sit back and listen. She didn't even bring up your romantic situation– or lack thereof– like most older people did. She treated you as a friend, didn't even question that you were still working in retail, encouraged your interest in writing.

When the conversation shifted to your social lives, she told you about the group of elderly folk she played cards with every Sunday after church. In turn, you told her about Papyrus. Once again, she seemed delighted as you chatted on about him– and not just because she had just won her second hand in a row, leaving you trailing in her dust by almost two-hundred points.

“He's the one who gave me that riddle, you remember?” you said as she shuffled the deck again between rounds, her hands moving swiftly.

“Oh, I remember that one!” she chortled, “A traffic light, how clever.” Her gaze suddenly shifted, her eyes crinkling as she grinned mischievously at you, quickly dealing out another hand. “Is he cute?” she asked. You snorted immediately, chuckling, and the word 'no' was already on the tip of your tongue before you hesitated, considering.

 _Was_ Papyrus cute? He was... unconventional, you guess, being that he resembled a literal human skeleton– despite his ridiculous height and uncanny-valley-esque differences in bone structure. His mannerisms were sometimes... adorable, though. The thought made you blush, and you glanced away, scoffing at yourself.

“Um, I dunno,” you hedged, instead of answering. You looked back in time to see her expression lift with amusement, and you waved her off, laughing. “I don't know! We're friends, I mean, we haven't even known each other that long.”

“You've talked more about him than anything else I've asked you about,” she said, chuckling, and you buried your face in your cards to hide your flushed face. “I ask you about yourself, and you clam up, but when you bring up this _Papyrus_ fellow...”

“Well, he's–” you hesitated, huffing out a quiet laugh, “He's been really nice to me, he's the first person to– It's been– Ugh, I don't know,” you finished awkwardly, discarding swiftly and gesturing for her to take her turn. She hummed, smiling at you for a moment before hobbling to her feet instead.

“I think we could use a refresher,” she said, waving a shaky hand towards your glasses, both of which were close to being empty. You quickly stood, setting your cards down to usher her back into her seat.

“Let me!” you said with a grin, and she gave a grateful smile as she settled back into her seat, allowing you to rush into the kitchen and grab the pitcher for the iced tea.

“Why don't you tell me more about him?” she asked as you went, and you racked your brain for something new to tell her. You'd been talking a lot about how he acted, what you've talked about, all of the phone calls feeling like something out of a surreal fantasy that you'd been thrust into out of the blue....

“Oh! Well, he's an officer,” you said as you retrieved the pitcher, coming back out into the room. Her eyebrows went up as you poured tea into both your glasses.

“Is that so!” she exclaimed, “I hope he's one of the _good_ ones.” You chuckled, nodding.

“He's actually really good,” you said, thinking back to when you'd first met him. She gave a satisfied hum as you turned back to re-enter the kitchen.

“I'll take your word for it,” she replied, and you chuckled.

“He's on that monster police force, you know? The M-E-C-P-D?” you called back to her, pulling the fridge open to replace the iced tea. She was oddly quiet as you put it away, and when you reentered the room, her expression was pinched, lips pursed as if she were upset about something. You hesitated mid-step on your way back to your chair. Your heart was suddenly pounding. “Um– is something wrong?”

“Oh! No, dear, nothing,” she dismissed you with a tight smile, and you paused only a second longer before returning to your seat. As you sat down, she hummed, frowning at her drink, which she hadn't yet touched. “I just think... you know, all these monsters... you really should be more careful.”

You felt like your brain had short-circuited, and you could only stare at her in the beat of silence that passed.

What?

“It's just– they're not right, and it's not just me who thinks this!” she leaned forward slightly, knobbly hands clasped on her lap, all creased with age and wrinkles. Her skin was thin, and you could see varicose veins showing through here and there. Your grandmother had varicose veins all over her hands, and they had been prone to bleeding, on occasion. “I talked to my pastor, you know, if you would come to church with me, you could hear it from him, too... But when all of this started, he knew it was a sign that the devil was rising to power, and all of these creatures, they're just–”

She cut herself off with a huff, glancing to the window in a way that made the light play against her spectacles. Your face was feeling a little numb, your mouth slightly opened as you blinked at her, still beyond words.

This wasn't... right.

“Demonic.” She pursed her lips again, looking at you seriously. “You've seen them on the television, haven't you? Two goats leading them? With _red_ eyes and _fangs?_ Skeleton mascots? And some of the ones you see walking on the streets!” She shook her head, and you numbly found your voice, speaking as if from very far away.

“My fr... Papyrus is. A skeleton, actually,” you said quietly, and she actually gasped softly, looking genuinely shocked. Her expression was then knit with worry, and you reached out to take your cold glass– if only for something to do with your hands– but you held it like you had forgotten how to drink, and when she started speaking, you set it down again.

“Oh, dear, my dear, I thought you had more sense than that!” she said emphatically, and you clasped your shaking hands in your lap, a steady pounding beginning to drum behind your ears. “You've been taken in, my dear, you've been tricked! I would have thought you'd have been fooled by one of the more normal ones, like a _rabbit_ , or something–”

You winced, lifting a hand to smooth your hair back over your scalp as you closed your eyes, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“–but no, a skeleton! The face of _death_ , a symbol of _evil!_ ” You felt sick to your stomach, a vile feeling curling inside of you, and you cleared your throat to swallow, rubbing your fingers hard against your eyes.

“Um,” you found yourself mumbling, “he's really nice, actually...”

“Of course he is, my dear, oh dear,” she reached out suddenly and took your hand from over your eyes, holding it with a surprisingly tight grip for someone her age. You didn't have the presence of mind to pull away, just looking at her in silent confusion as she continued to speak, her face now crumpled with what appeared to be real, genuine concern. “The devil is _always_ nice at first, it's how he lures you in, oh dear.” She shook her head, and you felt dizzy.

This wasn't right.

This... wasn't supposed to happen.

“Um...” you tried to form a sentence, but your mouth was dry, and you couldn't find the words. Her brows creased further.

“They're all going to be like that, dear, they'll be nice at first, but I've head it myself, the words straight from the lips of a man of God,” she said, lowering her voice almost urgently as you continued to just watch her, suddenly feeling like an alien among a foreign species. Her eyes were too wide, sunken in with age, her wrinkles too pronounced. Her mouth looked like the mouth of a puppet, her glasses looked like thin, melting ice. “This is a sign that _Judgment Day_ is coming, and that _child_ , that _Ambassador_ of theirs...” She was talking about Frisk, now– the human child who had fallen into the Underground and whose arrival had broken the Barrier. She suddenly took a shaky breath, and you gently pried your hand from her grip. She let you go, leaning back and shaking her head again.

“It's... not like that,” you were saying, but your voice had lowered to a murmur, and she didn't seem to hear you over the air conditioning, still looking very seriously in your direction.

“That child is the Antichrist,” she said, her tone strong with conviction, and you...

You blinked.

“Oh,” you said, and then, mechanically, you turned your head to look at the clock. “Well... I need to go get ready for work, now,” and you stood slowly, almost stiffly. She looked surprised, as if she had just been snubbed, but stood on shaky legs to follow you.

“You're leaving?” she asked, tone lifting incredulously, and you nodded, still feeling very far away from yourself, as if you had just watched all of this transpire through the window.

“Yes,” you said as you moved to the door, blinking at the handle before turning halfway to look back at her. “I'm... going on a trip, next Saturday. With Papyrus and his friends.” Her expression suddenly soured before she quickly rearranged it into a look of disapproval.

“You need to get yourself to church,” she said, her tone irritable now, and she stopped moving towards you. “Haven't you heard anything I've said just now? You're walking straight into a trap set by the devil, and you're such a _nice_ child.” Her tone had taken on an almost pleading quality, but you just stared at her for a moment. “My pastor would be glad to educate you,” she went on, clasping her hands in front of her. “You can go with me tomorrow morning, I'll even drive you there myself so I can introduce you.”

She paused, as if waiting for your answer, and her words rang around in your head like chimes. Slowly, you shook your head.

“Um... so... I'll need to come by a day early to do your shopping... next week,” you went on as if she hadn't spoken, a slight waver entering your voice. “I just wanted to let you know.” Her expression became pinched again, as if she had just smelled something awful.

“No, dear, I don't think I'll need your help, this time,” she said coldly, and you felt the floor go out from under your feet as you stood there, as if you'd just been launched straight into space. “Thank you for everything, but until you renounce the devil and throw yourself at the mercy of the Lord, I don't want to associate with you. Goodbye, now.”

You stood there a moment longer, blinking in her direction, and then you left in silence, letting the door close quietly behind you. In the hallway, you stared down at the carpet, heart beating quickly in your chest, eyes suddenly starting to sting.

Your alarm went off from inside your pocket– it was the emergency one you'd set, for when you'd _really_ slept in and needed to get a move on or you'd be late. You usually left it on as an indication of when to start getting ready, if you hadn't already started, by now. Looks like you were right on time, today.

With a blank look, you turned the alarm off and headed back to your apartment.

Time to go to work.

 

→

 

The day passed quickly, in a hazy blur as you threw yourself into the tasks you'd been given. Your manager even complemented you on your sudden shift in work ethic, and you hadn't known how to respond beyond just smiling and giving him a quick thanks. By the end of the day, you were still feeling very off, as if you'd been shifted just slightly into some other reality, one that you weren't supposed to be in. It was a familiar feeling, one you'd felt on a few other occasions, and one that you had almost forgotten in recent weeks.

It was in this state of mind that you returned home, walking quickly through the empty hall to your apartment and opening the door almost cautiously, as if afraid to make any noise. Your apartment was dark, and you meandered inside by the light of your phone, kicking the door shut behind you as you made your way to the kitchen and located the light switch. It barely lit the room through the archway, and you wandered over to the couch, contemplating just laying there for a while. The whole place smelled like weed again, and it was quickly making you nauseous, but at least the neighbor–

Ah, no, there it was. They must have learned your schedule, but at least they weren't blasting their music like they had been over the past week, just playing it like they normally did. They were probably hoping you would have another violent reaction so they could justify more passive aggression. The sound drew your eyes to that wall, and then down, to the wine stain you hadn't had the energy to clean yet. It looked almost black against the white carpet, cast in a deep shadow that covered that part of the dining room like a blanket.

The idea of sitting here quietly, browsing the internet without even a drink in your hand was... less than ideal....

Your mouth suddenly felt very dry, and you shucked off your hoodie to go change into some more comfortable clothes, opting for your most recent pajamas, even though you'd already worn them a few days in a row. You grabbed the bottle of stain remover as you returned– you'd set it on the table against the wall of the dining area, the one you never used because you preferred the couch. Then, you doubled back into the bathroom to grab a rag and some disposable gloves, took a large plastic cup from the kitchen and filled it with water, then set everything out next to the purple stain and crouched to sit with your knees folded under yourself.

You sprayed it thoroughly, then wet your rag and scrubbed....

And scrubbed....

And scrubbed....

It seemed like it was set deep into the carpet, and the more you scrubbed, the more you smeared it around. You were sobbing by the time you gave up, having made some progress- the stain now slightly faded and a little duller against the white of the rest of the floor– but it was still so glaringly _there_ , and you couldn't understand.

You couldn't understand. You _couldn't understand_.

You did your best. You were doing your best.

Was any of this even worth it?

You stayed hunched over the spot, crying until your head began to pound, not moving until your legs had fallen asleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof.  
> it was always supposed to go this way, but i almost wish i had picked a different name for miranda. it's not really a stereotypical grandma name, and that's why i picked it... but, i really like the name miranda. ;w; i feel like i did it a disservice.
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!!


	11. Somewhere better.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "THERE'S EVEN A SEAT WARMER!!  
> "NOT THAT... IT IS MUCH USE, RIGHT NOW. SINCE IT IS VERY HOT OUTSIDE...  
> "STILL."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel... really bad about how late this is, so i'll be starting on chapter twelve asap! i'm really sorry it took so long.  
> i'll say more (not about how late this is, just _more_ ) at the end, but for now;  
>  **big warning** for some heavy drinking in a place where something bad could happen. nothing bad DOES happen, and i feel okay spoiling that, because i don't want anyone to stress out too badly.

You called off of work the next day.

Monday and Tuesday were your days off this week, but a three day vacation hadn't really been part of your motivation, although it was a nice bonus. Rather, you just hadn't been able to convince yourself to get up out of bed, and your manager hadn't really seemed too pleased about it, saying that you were calling off a lot more lately, and you really had to be careful. You had listened patiently and agreed that you would take your job more seriously, then hung up after saying goodbye, trying not to think too much about paying rent as you continued to lie there, staring at the ceiling until well into the afternoon.

Papyrus hadn't called by now, which meant that he was probably waiting until later, probably assuming you had work today and that it was too late to call you now, because you would have started your shift already. You would probably just wait for him to call and let him think that, because you never knew if he was busy with something, anyway, and you didn't want to distract or bother him. Imagine if you called during a store robbery, or something. Would he actually pick up?

You could almost hear him frantically trying to assure you that he wasn't ignoring you, really, it's just that he was trying to defuse a hostage situation, and shots had already been fired, but he would call you right back! Soon! And he hoped you had a wonderful day!

The thought made you crack a grin for the first time since yesterday, and though it was short-lived, it was enough to make you sigh and hoist yourself up into a sitting position, dragging your cell phone off of the night stand to check the time. Three o'clock. You hadn't even slept in today, your brain refusing to let you sleep properly without crying until almost four A.M, then waking you up at eight and refusing to shut back down. But here you were, only getting out of bed mid-afternoon. You could have probably taken some of the Nyquil in your bathroom to sleep a little longer, but you didn't really want to abuse it.

“Ha, imagine that,” you mumbled out loud, staring down at your phone's lock screen displaying the time. “Me, not wanting to abuse a mind-altering substance.”

The bitter, self-deprecating statement made you grin ruefully, and you watched the lock screen blink out to black, your reflection looking back up at you through the cracked screen. You frowned as you stared at your own tired face, then turned the phone over and groaned, lifting yourself laboriously from the sunken-in mattress and trudging down the hall to the bathroom. You didn't bother with most of your morning routine, but you did use the toilet and shower. Then, you just threw on your pajamas again and wandered out into the living room.

You probably needed to eat, but you weren't feeling very hungry. Papyrus' voice sounded in your head almost immediately, tone disapproving as he nagged you to eat, and you groaned again, lugging yourself into the kitchen and settling on instant ramen. As soon as you smelled it cooking in the microwave, your stomach chose that moment to remember that it hadn't eaten anything in almost a full day, growling and protesting as you impatiently waited for the seconds to tick down. When it was finished, you took it with your cell phone into the living room and ignored even glancing towards the back wall as you plopped down on the couch and began to eat, hunched over your table and feeling like a goblin. Your phone suddenly buzzed twice with a notification, and your head whipped around as you set your noodles down to check.

The first thing your mind registered upon reading it was that it wasn't from Papyrus. It was Undyne, and when you opened the message, you found yourself squinting in mild confusion.

 

> **Undyne**  
>  Hey, PUNK, what's your favorite flavor??????

 

Favorite flavor... what? You frowned as you tacked out a response, well aware that you would have to check yourself not to react poorly just because you were feeling bad. Besides, you barely knew Undyne, and you wanted to keep up a good impression. She was a little extra, sometimes, but she seemed... really nice, and fun. You wanted her to like you.

Your brain immediately shoved Miranda's words back at you, and you swallowed bitterly, the corners of your mouth pulling down further as you hit send.

 

> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Favorite flavor what? Candy, drink, uh... snack...?
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  MEH, i'm not picky!!!!

 

You stared at the message for a minute before one side of your mouth quirked up in some vague sort of amusement.

 

> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Uh, then i guess i like really sweet things, when it comes to candy and drink... And savory stuff when it comes to snacks
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  HA, NICE! ALRIGHT!!  
>  Thanks for the hot DEETS!!
> 
> **(123)456-7890**  
>  No problem. :3 Why are you asking?
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  WHOAH!! I've seen that before!  
>  That's a cute text emote! :3
> 
> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Thanks... I made it. :3
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  HA, YEAH???  
>  I know THAT'S not true! LOL  
>  Anyway, what are you up to now??

 

You glanced up at your ramen, which was quickly becoming soggy, and reached out to stir it idly with your fork as you typed out your reply with your other hand.

 

> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Just eating breakfast. Like a normal, healthy person
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  BREAKFAST? At 3pm??? Did you sleep in, or what??
> 
>  

You set your fork down to reach up and smooth your hair back tiredly, sighing.

 

> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Ha, yeah... I'm still sleepy.
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  Gah, I bet you'd get along with sans! Until I whip you into shape, that is! >:3  
>  (I made the emoji FIERCE!)
> 
> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Lol, please don't whip me into shape.  
>  I'm soft.
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  OKAY, I won't!!  
>  I'm not allowed to suplex you, anyway!! Papyrus would get MAD and RATTLE HIS BONES at me!! It's a defense mechanism skeletons have!
> 
> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Haha, what? Like a rattle snake?
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  YEAH, EXACTLY LIKE THAT!!  
>  Actually, did you know that he and his brother can TALK TO THOSE SNAKES by RATTLING
> 
> **(123)456-7890**  
>  WHAT?? You're messing with me, lol
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  HA, MAYBE!!  
>  Anyway, I gotta go do WORK THINGS again!  
>  Let's talk more sometime, so we can become BEST FRIENDS!! Okay??

 

You stared at the message for a moment, a sudden heavy weight settling over you. It made you smile tiredly as you picked up your fork again to absently lift some noodles out of the styrofoam cup, then let them slop back down into the broth. You sighed quietly, then typed out a reply.

 

> **(123)456-7890**  
>  Yeah, for sure. Good luck at work!
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  THANKS, NERD  
>  GOOD LUCK BEING LAZY!!
> 
> **(123)456-7890**  
>  I don't need luck for that... i'm already a pro
> 
> **Undyne**  
>  LOL

 

You set your phone down after that, assuming that she was back at work now, and wouldn't be able to respond anymore. The last thing you wanted was to bother either of them, but now that Undyne had texted you, you were wondering if she'd talk to Papyrus about it. Maybe he'd call when he wasn't busy, and you could talk to him. You found yourself... _really_ wanting to talk to him, right now.

You shook your head and sighed, running a hand over your scalp to smooth your hair back again as you went back to eating.

 

→

 

You ended up leaving the apartment after that, unable to stand being in there much longer, especially when the smell of marijuana began to seep in from wherever the hell it came from– it was likely the vents, or cracks behind the cabinets. Opening the window would be useless, you knew that from experience, so you threw on some clothes and headed out. While it was not unreasonably hot out, you were getting to the part of spring that basically felt like summer, and wearing your hoodie was no longer an option if you wanted to stay outside for long periods of time.

Which you planned on doing today, since you didn't even have a destination in mind, and as you put on your helmet, you tried to ignore the heat. Once you got moving, it wouldn't be as noticeable, and you really needed that, right now. That feeling of the wind cooling your skin, of freedom, of being able to go anywhere, do anything.

You started your bike and took off, driving until your legs started to get numb. You took the freeway a few times, but never actually went anywhere, only stopping once to fuel up, then heading straight back out. Mt. Ebott loomed over you the entire time, too big not to be visible no matter where you were, so long as you could see the horizon. It made you wonder about this upcoming Saturday, but that only made you think of Miranda again. This time, when you thought of what she said, it didn't make you want to cry. It made you angry. Angry and upset that she would say something like that, angry that she wasn't who you thought she was, angry that she wasn't good, and it made you hate her.

She wasn't supposed to be like that. She was supposed to be nice and supportive, she was supposed to encourage you, she was supposed to smile and laugh and tell stories. She was supposed to give you advice, she was supposed to nag you here and there, she was supposed to ask you to call more, but...

You pulled off of the highway at the next ramp, legs numb and eyes stinging. There was another gas station nearby, so you parked and pulled off your helmet, taking one deep shaky breath as you tried to control yourself. It wasn't like she owed you any of those things. It wasn't like you meant anything to her at all, and even if you had, it wasn't like you were anything more than acquaintances. You bought her groceries for her because you wanted to. She baked you sweets as compensation. That... was really it. That was all you were.

It wasn't like she was your _family._

The thought stabbed through you, and you forced yourself to focus on walking to wake your legs back up. You stopped in the gas station and bought some junk, because it was already after seven at night, and you knew you were probably supposed to be getting hungry by now after only eating cup ramen earlier. You ate it quietly as you watched the traffic pull in and drive by, watched monsters and humans alike laughing and talking, frowning as if troubled by something, staring at their phones. Here was a group of bird-like monsters following a dog monster who was twice their height, here was a human chatting with a monster who was half-horse, half-fish. Here was a human talking on their phone and dragging along their kid as they walked by at a brisk pace.

It seemed almost like a community you were peeking in on, but then, it felt like that wherever you went. This whole city felt like a community, and you were always looking in from the outside. There was an invisible line between you and the world that you just couldn't cross, no matter what you did, no matter how hard you tried.

You crumpled up your snack's wrapper and tucked it away in the saddle bags, then put your helmet back on to leave.

It wasn't until it got dark out that you started wondering what you were going to do next. You didn't want to go home, but it was after eight, and the sun was setting. The idea of going back to that apartment right now felt impossible, like a heavy weight tied to your ankle. It was dark there, all empty and cramped. It was uncomfortable there, and every time you sat on that couch, you felt like you'd rather be anywhere else, as if you were unwelcome in your own home. You had the day off tomorrow, so would it really be so bad if you pulled an all-nighter? You'd done it before multiple times, and as long as you were careful, you wouldn't have to spend more than forty dollars on gas.

It was money you didn't have, sure, but it was money you were willing to spend, if it meant staying out a little longer– pretending a little longer that you were just passing through, just visiting the city to see it and blow out of town for somewhere else. Somewhere better.

A wild thought seized you suddenly– what if you really did just leave, tonight? What if you rode out of town and just didn't stop, what if you actually acted on your fantasies, for once? The idea filled your chest with a sudden, sharp longing, and you actually almost started your bike, but–

You thought of Papyrus. His smiling face, his cheerful voice. You thought of him calling you to hang out, and you telling him that you'd left Ebott, and you weren't coming back. You thought of breaking the news to him, hearing him stumble over assurances that it was alright, despite the sadness in his tone, or worse– you imagined ignoring his calls because you were too scared to confront him about it, and the hurt he'd feel. He might worry about you if you suddenly disappear, might think that you died. And if he ever found out that you had really just left, just abandoned him, despite everything....

The idea made your eyes well up with tears, and you sighed, slumping over the front of your bike. Maybe it would have been possible to abandon Ebott, but you could never abandon Papyrus. A few weeks ago, you could have just driven to the bridge, crossed it to the mainland and never returned. Now, though, the idea of doing that without even a word, without plans to ever come back... It felt wrong. You couldn't do it.

The idea that you were trapped here, now, even if Papyrus made you happy, filled you with dread. You hated this city, you hated the smell, the traffic, your crummy, cramped little apartment. The only thing you had been hanging on to was the idea that you'd be able to leave some day, and when you met Miranda...

God. You missed being a kid. You missed how your family used to be. You missed being innocent and happy, you missed being able to enjoy things. Everything was so bad, now, everything was different in the worst ways, and every time you felt like you were making progress, you fell backwards off the slope you'd been steadily climbing and face-planted at the bottom.

It was a self-fulfilling prophecy. You couldn't succeed, because deep down, you probably didn't even want to. You were stuck in this city for so long because you were afraid to leave, and now you were acting like you could have left all along, if it weren't for your friendship with Papyrus. You never would have left Ebott, though, not any time soon at least– you knew that for a fact, when you looked at your own life through an objective lens. You never would have left– you would have stayed right here being more and more miserable, until you finally got fed up and got the courage to move, or...

Or, you died.

You shoved your helmet back on and started your bike. It was a hot night, tonight, and the air felt humid, like the sky was threatening to rain.

 

→

 

You slumped back against the brick wall with a paper bag clutched in one hand, tucked away down an alley, your heart pounding a mile a minute. You felt dread, excitement, and a craving that dredged up ugly memories of what had happened the last time you'd been drunk. None of it mattered, right now, and you pushed those thoughts from your mind as you slid down the wall, still visible from the street if only because you were scared of what happened in dark corners and hidden places.

It was dark, here, in a way that made you feel hidden, even though light was only inches away. It was dark like a secret, like you didn't exist for a while, and wasn't that a nice thought?

You weren't quite on the inside, but you could still see it, and that thought comforted you as you twisted open the bottle of vodka you'd bought. The acrid stench hit you as soon as you lifted it to drink, and you breathed out to brace yourself. It was flavored, but it was still hard going down, even at the best of times. Plugging your nose wouldn't do any good, so you simply braced yourself and drank.

The taste made you cringe immediately, almost choking as you tried to force it down. It tasted bad, but it was stronger than wine, and it would help you feel better, it would take your mind off of things. You knew this was a bad idea– getting drunk in an alley. You knew bad things happened to people who did this, knew that you might get robbed or murdered or worse, but you pushed those thoughts to the back of your mind, because where else were you supposed to go? You couldn't go back to that apartment, right now, didn't want to go back ever.

Maybe in the morning, when you were feeling a little more stable, you would be able to go back. Maybe you'd feel like shit, maybe you'd feel like an idiot, maybe you'd regret this decision and hate yourself for making it. You already hated yourself for plenty of other reasons, what was one more?

You must have sat there for an hour, nursing the vodka at first, then taking deeper drinks when the burn became less noticeable. It was chasing away all of those negative thoughts, all of the fear, all of the upset, and as your body cried out in relief, you choked on a sob, then brought the bottle up to drink again.

The chirp of a siren made you jump, the flashing lights nearby making you whirl around to look at the street and there, parked not ten feet away, was a cop car, and who would be stepping out of it but Papyrus, looking stern at first in his short-sleeved uniform. That sternness melted into shock when he came around and got a look at you. You took a shaky breath and gave a watery, wobbly smile, almost laughing at the situation, because of course– of course it would be him. Of course he would see you like this, and of course you would put him in the position of having to arrest someone who he said time and time again that he considered a friend.

He said your name like a question, brows lowering slightly

"IS THAT YOU??" he asked, sounding aghast, and you lifted a hand to give him a shaky wave.

"Eeeeeyy..." you rasped, smile drooping as you gazed blearily up at him. "It's Papyrus...."

He stared at you for a moment, sockets still wide with shock and confusion, and then his whole expression seemed to twist with concern. He lifted one gloved hand to his chest, and you weren't sure what it was for, but then–

He switched off his body cam.

"WHAT–" he started for you immediately, crouching down next to you, then standing up again, "OH– HANG ON, DON'T–" he started back for his cruiser, then paused, turning to look at you again and hesitating. He made a motion that clearly meant ' _stay here,_ ' and you let your head fall back against the brick wall as he rushed around his squad car, then climbed in to turn off the lights and park it properly along the street.

He was by your side again soon, hovering nearby as he crouched, jaw opening slightly as he stared at you, like he wasn't sure how to react.

"WHAT– WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he asked, his voice wavering. He glanced behind him, then back at you, "IF I HADN'T BEEN THE CLOSEST OFFICER... SOMEONE CALLED YOU IN, IF IT HAD BEEN ANYBODY ELSE..."

"Sorry," was all you could think to say, taking a shuddering breath as tears tracked down your face, and his brows creased as he stared down at you, hands hovering in the air like he had forgotten what to do with them.

"I– THIS–" he huffed slightly, then reached out hesitantly, resting his hand on the bottle in your grip, as if to take it.

You held it out for him, and he lifted it from your slackened grip, then tugged it slightly out of the paper bag. He made a small noise when he saw how much you'd drank already– about half the bottle, maybe a little more– and he let it slip back into the bag, then closed his sockets for a moment. He took a breath through his nasal cavity, then lifted his skull to look at you again, eye sockets angled up sadly, like he was so stressed out he might start crying. Seeing his expression made your eyes well up with more tears, and you had to look away, raising a hand to wipe at them and shaking with silent sobs.

"I'M– CONFISCATING THIS..." he said quietly, holding it with both hands for a moment. "INTO THE TRASH CAN."

"Okay," you said, voice breaking slightly, "M'sorry." He seemed to hesitate, then stood to move quickly around you to the dumpster, where he chucked the bottle with maybe a tad more force than was necessary. The sound of it slamming and breaking against the empty bottom made you wince, and you heard him take a breath.

"I THOUGHT THERE WOULD BE TRASH IN THERE," he said, voice flat, and you sniffed, deciding not to respond, still afraid to look at him. He came around to crouch in front of you, but you huddled in on yourself, staring resolutely at the concrete. "I... WELL... THIS IS– UNEXPECTED! I– SUPPOSE I WILL HAVE TO GIVE YOU A RIDE HOME."

"Sorry," you mumbled again, tears blurring your vision and overflowing. He sighed, reaching out one gloved hand to squeeze your shoulder.

"IT WILL BE FINE," he said, "I JUST– WHY DIDN'T YOU... _CALL ME_ , INSTEAD OF...?" He didn't finish his question, but the implication hung in the air– ' _Why didn't you call me for help instead of getting drunk in an alley?_ '

"Didn' wanna bother you," you said quietly, voice wavering as you blinked away your tears. You weren't used to relying on people, anyway, so even if the thought had crossed your mind to reach out to him, you probably wouldn't have. You didn't want to bother him. You didn't want to be a burden. He inhaled through his nasal cavity, then let it out slowly.

"DO YOU THINK... YOU CAN'T CONTACT ME?" he asked in disbelief after a moment's hesitation. You sniffed wetly and turned your head slightly to look at the dumpster, more tears collecting and spilling over your cheeks. "YOU THINK I'LL BE BOTHERED IF YOU CALL FIRST? THAT I WOULD TREAT YOU LIKE AN INCONVENIENCE?"

You didn't have a good answer for him, so you stayed quiet, taking in a shaky breath that turned into a sob, and he rubbed at your shoulder.

"LET'S... GET UP, FIRST," he said gently, "CAN YOU STAND UP?"

You nodded, so he coaxed you to sit up straight, then stood up himself and began helping you to your feet. It seemed you had overestimated your ability to be stable on your own, because you immediately stumbled as the world tilted and swayed. He caught you before your legs could give out, then helped steady you by bending down slightly to put an arm around you, supporting your weight, then slinging your other arm over his shoulder. It seemed like it would be uncomfortable for him, but he didn't complain as he took a few tentative steps towards the street.

"IS THIS OKAY? WILL YOU MAKE IT?" he spoke up, pausing to let you gather your bearings, "I WOULD CARRY YOU, BUT THE CAR IS ONLY A FEW FEET AWAY..."

"S'okay," you slurred miserably. Your eyes were closed, because having them open while standing and moving around was not only making you dizzy, but also nauseous. He hummed in acknowledgment, then guided you the rest of the way towards his car.

"I... I AM SUPPOSED TO SEARCH YOU BEFORE I LET YOU IN MY VEHICLE," he said, humming nervously. "BUT... WELL...."

"I don' have anything..." you said quietly, and he made an anxious noise as he unlocked the squad car.

"YES, I KNOW," he helped you sit down in the back, which didn't surprise you, "LET'S JUST SAY I DID, OKAY? SORRY ABOUT... THIS, BY THE WAY, BUT IF I LET YOU SIT IN THE FRONT..." he trailed off, and you only shrugged, head lolling to the side as you reclined against the plastic seat. "ON THE BRIGHT SIDE, IF YOU VOMIT BACK HERE, IT WILL BE MUCH EASIER TO CLEAN UP!" he exclaimed, and you chanced a look at his face.

His brows were still knit with concern, but his teeth were pulled up slightly at the corners, as if in a forced smile. When he saw you look at him, his smile brightened slightly, and you tried to reciprocate, one corner of your mouth quirking up weakly as your vision once again began to blur.

"OH– IT'S ALRIGHT!" he was quick to say, hand already settling on your shoulder as you turned away from him again, reaching up to rub at your eyes and hiccup a sob. "YOU'LL BE BACK HOME IN NO TIME, WITH WATER AND A COMFORTABLE BED WHERE YOU CAN SLEEP THIS AWAY, HUMAN!"

You only whined in response, and he rubbed your shoulder again, sighing.

"JUST– LET ME TAKE CARE OF IT, OKAY?" he said, pulling away to presumably stand up. "IT'S– JUST A SHAME THAT YOUR BIKE WAS IN THE SHOP. SO YOU HAD TO WALK TO THE DRUG STORE IN THIS STATE."

You glanced up at him, face twisting with confusion, but he only smiled cheerfully down at you, sockets still creased with worry.

"YOU'RE VERY SICK, HUMAN! REMEMBER? SOMEONE CALLED YOU IN THINKING YOU WERE DRUNK, BUT YOU WERE JUST SO ILL THAT YOU COLLAPSED!" he put his hands on his hips, glancing away down the street for a moment, face tensing slightly. "IT'S GOOD THAT I'M HERE, TO GIVE YOU A COURTESY RIDE! I– THOUGH..."

He seemed to hesitate, and even in your drunken state, you were catching on to what he was trying to tell you. It made you sob harder, and you leaned forward, burying your face in your hands while he let out a startled noise, hands hovering around you like he didn't know how to help you.

"HUMAN–" you forced yourself to quiet down, heavy sobs coming out as squeaks instead, and he settled for rubbing your back with one hand until you calmed down. "THERE, SEE? EVERYTHING IS FINE, NOW! I NEED TO GET ON THE RADIO SOON– ACTUALLY, I SHOULD–"

He gave you one final pat, then straightened up as you sniffled and wiped at your face, gently closing the door and grabbing the walkie on his shoulder. He spoke into it for only a minute as he walked around the vehicle, then climbed into the driver's seat.

"M-100, M-205?" He said as he started the vehicle, his tone far more formal than you'd ever heard it. A voice you definitely recognized spoke up from the radio, loud enough that you could understand her.

" _Send it!_ " Undyne shouted back, and Papyrus sighed through his nasal cavity, bending his head forward and pinching the bone between his sockets before he spoke.

"WILL YOU TWENTY-FIVE WITH ME AT PD?" he asked, pulling out onto the street. You steadied yourself with one arm against the wire-mesh cage between you and the front seat, and the other on the plastic edge of yours. There were no seat belts back here, it seemed, or at least you didn't see any.

" _Ten-four!_ " Undyne yelled, " _Is that the front or the back??_ "

"THE BACK," Papyrus responded. Undyne's reply came quickly, and she sounded absolutely gleeful.

" _Teeeeeen-four!!!_ " You could hear the beginning of a cackle sound off before she cut her walkie, and Papyrus let out a frustrated noise.

"ALRIGHT..." he muttered to himself, then he hit his walkie again, "SHOW M-205 BACK IN SERVICE, PLUS ONE COURTESY RIDE."

A different voice responded, and you could barely understand what they were saying, because they were speaking at a reasonable volume. You waited until the chatter died down to lean against the screen, observing shyly as Papyrus drove. He noticed you in the rear view and smiled, though his expression looked pained.

"IT WOULD BE NICE IF YOU WERE IN THE FRONT SEAT..." he said, and you tried to smile again, but you weren't sure if you managed a convincing one, because he sighed, sockets shifting as if he were watching the road. "WE'LL BE HEADING BACK TO THE STATION NOW. IT'S NOT TOO FAR... I WILL BE DROPPING YOU OFF AT MY CAR WHILE I TURN THIS ONE IN, AND I WILL MEET YOU IN THE PARKING LOT. ALRIGHT?"

"M'kay," you nodded, trying to ignore the way your eyes welled up every time he started speaking, and you sniffed, turning your head so your expression was hidden– not that he was looking, right now, focused as he was on driving.

"I'LL GIVE YOU A RIDE HOME," he said as he flicked on his turning signal, voice sounding slightly distant. "AND THEN MAKE SURE YOU GET SETTLED IN, BEFORE–"

"No," you said suddenly, voice cracking slightly. He paused.

"N-NO? YOU DON'T WANT ME TO COME IN?" he asked, and you let out a hitching sob.

"No, I don't.... wanna go there," you mumbled, rolling your head against the screen. "You can go in!" you went on, voice tight and catching slightly, "You can go in there... you're okay..."

"O-OKAY," he said, his tone high with concern, "YOU DON'T WANT TO GO HOME?"

"No," you said, though it was so quiet you weren't sure if he heard you, so you shook your head again, hoping he was looking. You felt the car turn, pushing you to the side slightly, and clenched your eyelids shut against a wave of nausea. Taking a deep breath, you went on, "Sorry... You can just... drop me off somewhere...."

"LIKE WHERE??" he asked as if appalled, and you shrugged, coughing through a sob.

"Like a... motel? Or..." No other options came to mind, and he sighed again.

"NO. I'M NOT LEAVING YOU AT A MOTEL, THAT'S–" he cut himself off and made a distressed sort of sound. "NO. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO GO HOME... I SUPPOSE WE COULD HAVE A SLEEPOVER."

"You don't have to do that..." you said quietly, and he forced a chuckle.

"I KNOW, BUT IT'S NO TROUBLE AT ALL, HUMAN!" he exclaimed, "THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS– I'M VERY GOOD AT SLEEPOVERS. I'VE HAD AT LEAST TEN OF THEM! BACK UNDERGROUND."

"Okay..." you trailed off miserably, and he hummed, but was quiet. You let the silence stretch on for a moment, listening to the sounds of traffic outside, and the shift of his uniform as he drove.

"CAN I ASK– YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME, BUT–" he hesitated, then plunged on, "IS SOMEONE... HARASSING YOU? IS THAT WHY YOU DON'T WANT TO BE AT YOUR APARTMENT? IF IT'S A SITUATION YOU NEED HELP WITH, I CAN– I CAN TALK TO THEM, OR... WE CAN SEE ABOUT– I CAN HELP YOU..."

"No, it's not–" you hesitated, swallowing before you went on. "It's nothing like that..."

"THAT'S...." he paused to make another turn, and you once again braced yourself, keeping your eyes shut this time. "OKAY... BUT, DON'T BE AFRAID TO COME FORWARD, IF YOU FEEL UNSAFE... A LOT OF TIMES, VICTIMS TEND TO STAY QUIET, BUT..."

"It's not that..." you insisted, and he fell quiet again, the only sounds coming from the engine and the other drivers. You took a shaky breath, and he sighed.

"ALRIGHT," he said quietly, "WHY... DO YOU HATE YOUR APARTMENT SO MUCH, THEN?"

You were quiet for a long moment, probably long enough for him to assume you weren't going to respond. Your eyes were still closed, and the motion of the car had been making you feel sick, the alcohol in your system making your head feel light and floaty. You hated this feeling, hated how frustrated and nauseous it made you. There was only one shot glass in your possession, but the last time you'd drank liquor, you'd hid it away, as a passive gesture to yourself, a reminder that you hated liquor– drinking it made you feel like shit, and you didn't _want_ to drink it anymore. You always regretted it.

"WE'RE ALMOST THERE," he murmured after a while, and you sat back in your seat, reclining against the plastic. It was even worse, sitting back like this, but now that you were still, you didn't want to move. Still, you groaned, reaching up to rub at your wet eyes, and you heard Papyrus exhale. "YOU'LL BE ALRIGHT," he said reassuringly, "WE'RE VERY CLOSE, NOW."

"It's just... I don't know..." you rasped, palms shielding your eyes from view, "I dunno what's... _wrong_ with me.... It's like... that whole place, I can't... I don't know if I can..." Your voice was getting thick, the more you spoke, and Papyrus made a worried sound from the front. You inhaled a shaky breath and sniffed, frowning, "I just... that place feels like... I wanna go... outside..."

"OKAY..." he prompted, when you were quiet for a few minutes. You sobbed quietly, shaking your head and lowering your arms.

"I wanna live inna woods," you warbled sadly, voice breaking, "Or, like... the farm."

"IT'S– IT'S OKAY," he said, slowing down and making another turn, "FARMS AND WOODS ARE VERY NICE PLACES TO LIVE! MUCH BETTER THAN THE CITY..."

"Yeah," you whined, sobbing again, and he let out a high, distressed noise as the car came to a stop.

"WE'RE– WE'RE HERE. LET ME GET OUT," he was already unbuckling as he spoke, and you rolled your head against the seat to see his red sports car right outside, gleaming in the lamp light. He opened your door for you while you were staring, and you pulled yourself out of the car, with some effort and his help. He held onto you as he shut it, then guided you around to the passenger side door. "YOU'RE GOING TO BE FINE, HUMAN. ARE YOU OKAY?" You nodded through your tears, and he helped you sit down in the front seat, then buckled you in, "I'LL BE RIGHT BACK, IT SHOULDN'T TAKE ME MORE THAN TWENTY MINUTES. YOU'LL BE SAFE OUT HERE, OKAY?"

"Okay," you mumbled, and he hovered for a moment, staring at you with a tense expression before he forced another smile.

"EVERYTHING IS FINE," he said, "I'LL BE RIGHT BACK, SO STAY HERE."

You nodded, and he waited a moment longer before he straightened up and gently closed the door. You watched him walk around the car and get back into his cruiser, then drive it back around the building. In his absence, silence settled over the vehicle, broken only by the sounds of you sniffling, and the cars driving by on the street. You relaxed into the seat– it was much more comfortable than the cop car, and it made you feel a little drowsy, but every time you closed your eyes and started to drift off, nausea and vertigo woke you back up. You sat up straight in the seat, then leaned forward, stretching the seat belt out to rest your forehead against the dash.

It wasn't long before he came back out, like he said he would, opening the car door carefully, but still suddenly enough to startle you. You jumped and sat up a little straighter, and he smiled at you as he sat down and buckled himself in, immediately closing the door and starting the car in one fluid motion. He had changed out of his uniform while he was inside, now wearing faded-yellow tee-shirt with what looked like a homemade paint-splatter-graphic on the front, which had begun to fade and peel off in some places. He was wearing his scarf again, a pale orange one that matched his gloves, and a pair of gray sweatpants that covered his boots. As you watched him adjust his mirror slightly, glancing nervously towards the station, something obvious dawned on you.

"SORRY," he said, then backed out of the spot, "I TOLD UNDYNE THAT YOU WERE SICK..." he went on, pulling the car around and glancing up again, as if looking for someone, then heading for the driveway, "I MIGHT BE IN A BIT OF A RUSH TO GET MOVING, BECAUSE SHE SEEMED ANXIOUS TO SAY HELLO TO YOU, AND BESIDES SPOILING OUR WONDERFUL COVER STORY, IT WOULDN'T BE GOOD FOR YOU TO DEAL WITH HER... _ENERGY_ RIGHT NOW, I THINK."

"Are you on a break?" you asked faintly, and he glanced at you, then back at the road as he turned out onto the street.

"I THOUGHT IT WAS CLEAR THAT I WAS LEAVING EARLY?" he said, phrasing it like a question, and you frowned at him, sinking down into the seat. "SORRY IF I DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING, I WAS... BUT, I ONLY HAD ANOTHER TWO HOURS LEFT OF MY SHIFT, ANYWAY. UNDYNE WAS OVER THE MOON ABOUT ME LEAVING WORK." His tone turned slightly bitter at the end, and you might have found it amusing, in any other circumstance. "HONESTLY, SHE'S SO... IRRESPONSIBLE WITH ME. IT'S PROBABLY UNFAIR..." he paused for a moment, cheekbones dusting a faint blue, "NOT THAT WE AREN'T STILL GREAT FRIENDS, JUST BECAUSE I DISAPPROVE OF HER WORK HABITS, SOMETIMES! AND... IT'S NOT THAT I DON'T OCCASIONALLY... APPRECIATE HER ADDITUDE...."

"You had to go home, cause of me," you muttered, turning your head to look out the window. He was quiet a moment, then scoffed.

"OF COURSE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS WOULD NOT ABANDON YOU FOR HIS WORK!" though his tone sounded slightly forced, it was still firm, and it made you tear up again. You gripped your seat belt and watched the scenery pass by outside, taking a steadying breath. "BESIDES, IT HAS BEEN A WHILE SINCE MY LAST SLEEPOVER! LOSING TWO HOURS WILL NOT HURT, SO LONG AS I DON'T MAKE GOING HOME EARLY A HABIT. UNDYNE WOULD... PROBABLY LET ME...." He sounded shifty suddenly, and it made you want to laugh, but you swallowed the feeling, pressing your forehead against the cool glass instead. He hummed anxiously. "IT'S REALLY ALRIGHT. I WANT TO MAKE SURE YOU'RE OKAY, AND I DON'T MIND MISSING A LITTLE WORK TO DO THAT.

"Oh...kay..." you mumbled, sniffing. "Thank you."

"OF COURSE," he said kindly, and, "I DON'T LIVE TOO FAR FROM THE STATION, BUT I HOPE THE RIDE IS MORE COMFORTABLE, ANYWAY. THERE ARE SOME THINGS I CAN'T BUDGE ON... EVEN IF I WANT TO. IF YOU'RE IN THE BACK, IT'S JUST... IT WAS LESS NOTICEABLE, AND... I'M SUPPOSED TO...."

"It wasn't too bad..." you murmured, lifting a hand to wipe at your face again. "I didn't mind..."

"WELL, I'M GLAD, THEN," he said warmly, actually sounding mildly relieved, "AND! THE SEATS IN MY CAR ARE FAR SUPERIOR TO EVEN THE FRONT SEAT OF MY CRUISER! THEY ARE DESIGNED WITH THE UPMOST COMFORT IN MIND! THERE'S EVEN A SEAT WARMER!!" he paused, "NOT THAT... IT IS MUCH USE, RIGHT NOW. SINCE IT IS VERY HOT OUTSIDE... _STILL_." You let out a quiet, warbling laugh, and he made a prideful noise.

"I could even just sleep in here," you rasped quietly. After a beat, he chuckled.

"ABSOUTELY NOT!" he exclaimed, and it made you laugh again.

 

→

 

It didn't take very long to get to his house, but you were half asleep by the time you'd reached the neighborhood. It was a suburban area near the edge of the city, practically a stone's throw from the highway. You'd passed this neighborhood before on your motorbike, but you'd never driven through it, only seeing it from a distance on the freeway. Watching the houses pass by while you were feeling so drowsy, with your head pressed against the window and you slumped over in your seat– it made you feel a lot younger, suddenly, like you had traveled back in time. When he pulled into the driveway of a nice, two-story home with a garden out front, you were brought back to reality, and you forced yourself to sit up a little straighter as he turned the car off.

“AND HERE WE ARE!” he exclaimed brightly, undoing his seat belt, then reaching over to undo yours, as well. You let it slide over your torso and mumbled some incoherent reply, which he hummed at in response, as if that were a valid way to answer him. “YES, I KNOW. IT'S INCREDIBLE. MY BROTHER HELPED ME PICK IT OUT, THE LAYOUT INSIDE IS SOMEWHAT SIMILAR TO OUR HOME BACK IN SNOWDIN.”

You made a noise of acknowledgment, and he climbed out of the car, closing his door quietly before coming around to open yours for you. You almost fell out, but caught yourself, then allowed him to help you up.

“It's nice,” you mumbled as he guided you across the yard to the walkway. He let out a prideful noise.

“I'M GLAD YOU LIKE IT!” he said, helping you up the stairs, then fiddling with his keys until he found the right one and unlocked the door. He nudged it open with one arm, then led you inside. The door opened up on the living room, decorated with a teal sofa situated underneath the window, and two matching arm chairs positioned at either side. The television was across the room, and on the far wall were the stairs leading up to the second floor. On the opposite wall was the archway into the kitchen.

Papyrus led you farther into the living room, then helped you sit down on the couch, and you exhaled heavily, sinking back into the plush surface and closing your eyes almost immediately. It was one of the more comfortable couches you'd sat on, and you could probably fall asleep right here. He chuckled.

“I'LL BE RIGHT BACK,” he was saying, and you cracked your eyes open to blearily watch him as he left the room, headed for the kitchen.

You could hear the sink from here, and it wasn't long before he reemerged from the archway, a tall glass of water in hand. He smiled when he saw you watching for him, settling down next to you on the couch and urging you to sit up straight.

“HERE,” he held the water out towards you, and you took it hesitantly, straightening up to lean forward instead. “HUMANS ARE SUPPOSED TO DRINK A LOT OF WATER WHEN THEY HAVE THAT MUCH ALCOHOL, YES?” he asked, and you looked up at him to see that he was smiling nervously again, brows pinched. You hummed an affirmative, then stared back down at the water pensively. “WELL– AS LONG AS YOU DRINK IT BEFORE YOU GO TO SLEEP. OR... IF YOU WAKE UP IN THE NIGHT AND FEEL DEHYDRATED OR DISORIENTED, JUST DRINK SOME WATER THEN, SO YOU WON'T FEEL AS BAD IN THE MORNING...”

You brought the water up to your lips and drank. It felt nice, and it did make you feel a tiny bit better. You were more thirsty than you'd thought, and you ended up downing half of it while he spoke, shifting anxiously next to you.

“UNDYNE WAS A LITTLE WORRIED, WHEN I TOLD HER YOU WERE ILL...” Papyrus was saying, “SHE SAID SHE SPOKE TO YOU EARLIER TODAY, THROUGH TEXT, AND THAT YOU HADN'T SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BEING SICK, AND THAT YOU HAD ONLY WOKEN UP AT THREE IN THE AFTERNOON?”

You lowered the glass, frowning at your reflection in the water. As if only just now realizing how dark the room was, only lit by the light filtering in through the window, and the light from the kitchen, he jumped, letting out a tiny 'oh!' before he leaned over to the side table next to him and flicked the lamp on. It made you wince, at first, but your eyes adjusted quickly, and he exhaled slowly. You couldn't see your reflection, anymore.

“I KNOW THAT YOU... SOMETIMES SLEEP IN...” he went on quietly, “BUT THAT IS... VERY LATE. I DIDN'T GET THE CHANCE TO TALK TO YOU YESTERDAY, BUT IF SOMETHING HAPPENED...”

His statement trailed off, but the question was obvious, and you shrugged, the motion jarring the surface of the water so the light became warped and distorted, creating little shadows. The light that filtered through the water on your jeans shifted and morphed before settling back into the right shape, and you watched it, fascinated. He let out a drawn-out, concerned hum.

“YOU DON'T HAVE TO TELL ME RIGHT NOW,” he said after a moment of silence, “OR... EVER! I SUPPOSE. BUT, I DO HAVE... _SOME_ QUESTIONS, THAT I WOULD LIKE TO ASK YOU IN THE MORNING, THOUGH FOR NOW...” you heard the sound of bone brushing against bone, and he shifted next to you. “FOR NOW, IT WOULD BE BETTER IF YOU GOT SOME REST. I WILL PROVIDE A CHANGE OF CLOTHING FOR YOU, AND IF YOU'D LIKE, YOU CAN SLEEP IN MY BED, BECAUSE I WON'T BE USING IT.”

“Sorry,” you rasped, eyes welling up again, and he sighed, hand hovering in your line of sight, and then leaving, though his other came to rest on your back. You leaned towards him hesitantly, then carefully let your head rest on his shoulder, your arm pressed against his side, and he put his arm around you instead. “Why are you so nice...”

“WELL... THAT'S...” he paused, squeezing your shoulder once before he went on. “YOU'RE MY FRIEND.”

“I'm a problem,” you muttered, and his arm tightened around you, tensing slightly. “I'm annoying...”

He didn't respond for a long moment, as if he were choosing his words carefully, and you lowered your glass of water so it was resting in your lap, then turned your face to hide it against his shirt. You took a shuddering breath, tears soaking into the fabric. He smelled a bit like something sweet and fabric softener.

“You always put up with me, though...” you went on slowly, voice pitching up slightly and breaking, becoming a rasp as you quietly cried. “I don' know why... you seem to like me...”

“I _DO_ LIKE YOU,” he interjected softly, and you sobbed sharply, pressing your face against his ribs.

“I'm not anything,” you mumbled as a whine, “Yer gonna figure that out... if you haven't already... if you're waitin' for me to.... open up and be this... cool, funny person... it's not gonna happen, so–” you took a sharp breath, curling against him, and the glass of water nearly slipped out of your hands, but he reached out to snatch it before it could drop, taking it away and setting it on the side table– “so, if you're bored... of me... just tell me, it's okay... you can just tell me, and I'll... you don't have to....”

He rubbed at your shoulder as you began to cry in earnest, his other hand coming up to press against the back of your head, his thumb rubbing against your cheekbone comfortingly. You reached out and gently grasped at his shirt, scooting a little closer, and he seemed to hesitate before he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close while you cried.

“I'm all alone,” you cried softly, wrapping your arms around him and ducking your head against his sternum. “But it's okay... I know it's okay... to be alone... so it's okay... you don't have to... I can... just...”

“I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE,” he said firmly, voice thick with emotion as he tightened his arms around you. “I... LIKE YOU SO MUCH. AND I ALREADY THINK YOU ARE COOL AND FUNNY, AND I... I WON'T LEAVE YOU ALL ALONE. I PROMISE. IT– IT'S REALLY OKAY. IT'S GOING TO BE OKAY.” Warmth bloomed in your chest, but you pulled away from the feeling, curling up inside and shying away, and away. You held onto him tighter, like a life line, and he let you cry into his shirt, rubbing circles against your back.

“I feel so empty,” you confessed gently through your tears, “I'm just all empty, inside... I'm nobody....”

“YOU'LL BE OKAY,” he squeezed you, tucking your head in under his chin and curling over you almost protectively, like he was shielding you from the world. “EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke your hair.

“I PROMISE.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **(this is a lot of word vomit, FEEL FREE TO SKIP IT, sorry)**  
>   
>  at my worst, i could drink a whole bottle of vodka and still not really feel it. i would have trouble walking and creating complete sentences, but i wouldn't really _feel_ drunk. i'd still be semi-coherent. which is why reader isn't all loopy like they've been in the past. it's based on my experiences. i remember crying to a bunch of strangers online because i "couldn't even get drunk right."
> 
> also, i know the pining might be starting, but i want to say now that this story's rating won't ever change, so don't worry if reading nsfw stuff makes you uncomfortable. on the off-chance i ever _did_ write something nsfw, it would go in a separate story!
> 
> as for the cop lingo, everything i know about it comes from watching GTA RP, LMAO  
> i used to watch some streamers on twitch.tv who are/were real officers play gta and rp as police, and it's been almost two years, but i still remember most of it. it's part of the reason i was interested in making papyrus a cop, but there's other things i have planned for that, so. and, i guess real cop cars also have bullet-proof glass, BUT UH, IF IT DID...! PAPYRUS AND READER COULDN'T TALK! SO!!  
> the movies sometimes don't even put the mesh in, SO I THINK I'M GOOD,,,,,  
> and yes, despite what you may or may not have seen, cop cars do often have plastic back seats! because human bodily fluids are a pain to wash out.... i learned that in elementary school, when my class took a field trip to a police station, and they had everyone in class take turns sitting in the back of the police car, so we could all learn what it was like.  
> i did not care for it.
> 
> uh, also, yes, i did,,, change my pen name again, lol  
> when i first published Just In CASE as pinkmeowscato, i was actually unsure if i wanted that to be my pen name, because it's... a wine pun. and i wasn't sure i wanted to be stuck with it.  
> but i figured Just In CASE wouldn't get many views, anyway, so it was fine, i had time to change it, BUT THEN,,,,  
> it did,,,,,,  
> and i'm very grateful for it, i love that people enjoyed that one-shot so much, but i had to kind of resign myself to the fact that i was stuck as a wine pun, lol. so i've been slowly changing it to distance myself from that? pink => peach was the first change, and now meowscato => meowchi. 
> 
> also, also, i did change the chapter title scheme again without mentioning it. i did do that.  
> i'm more comfortable with this scheme, because this is how i normally name things, i just take an excerpt from the meat of the chapter.  
> also, i noticed that it was,,, painfully similar,,, to the title-scheme of this story i really like, and i didn't mean for that to happen,,,,,,
> 
> this is another one that i took less time in editing, because i was anxious to get it out, but i hope you all enjoyed it, anyway. sorry that i'm occasionally allergic to synonyms, lol. also, apologies for any typos. i hope this is worth the wait!  
> thanks for reading!


	12. Everything is going to be okay.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I WILL LEAVE IT HERE, INSTEAD, AND THEY WILL BE SURE TO SEE IT EVENTUALLY! NOW ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS NOTHING. IS THAT BETTER?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmmmmmm!!  
> HMMMMMMMMMM!!!  
> this chapter is a bit of a break from the heavy stuff.  
> here! we! go!!

Somehow, every year, you seemed to miss the best part of spring.

The flower buds would start to sprout at the end of winter, then you'd notice the petals start to bloom into little flowers, and then, somehow, two weeks will have passed. All the flowers would be gone, the long, finger-like branches stretching up into the blinding, blue sky already covered in the bright green of summer. You were left behind, wondering where all the flowers had gone, standing in the lurch and feeling like the only one who was confused; the only one who didn't see them shed to the ground, the only one who didn't notice. Or maybe you were the only one who cared that you missed it, the only one who realized it had passed you by.

You still wanted to lay underneath a tree in full bloom and reach up to watch the light filter through your fingers, catch the petals as they fell. You still wanted to gather up a basket of them, to toss up into the air and catch again. You still wanted to experience spring, to see the flowers bloom and watch them grow. You wanted your own garden, so you could see it for yourself, so you could wait patiently every day for the flowers to bloom. The idea always made you smile.

A peaceful life, somewhere green and open, somewhere with fresh air and clear skies. Somewhere you could lay back at night and see the galaxies spread across the night sky, somewhere you could laugh with someone under cover of moonlight, picking flowers from your garden.

A field of flowers. If you could only live in a field of flowers, someday. And when you died, that's where you wanted to be buried, where your future family could gather at the start of spring and celebrate you surrounded by beautiful, colorful flowers. Because spring really was your favorite season, aesthetically speaking.

It's just too bad you always missed it.

 

→

 

“HUMAN?” Papyrus knocked gently against the door to his room, “I'VE PREPARED BREAKFAST!” He was holding a plate in his free hand that was laden with french toast– made with human ingredients that he had picked up in the night while you were sleeping, in preparation for the morning, but he was a little worried that it might be too early for you to wake up.

Last night he had held you for a long time, and you'd felt so fragile in his arms, like broken pottery that had been glued back together one too many times. When you'd finally calmed down, he had eventually inquired as to where you might want to sleep, offering up his bed a second time. You had agreed, and he had helped you upstairs, picking out a set of pajamas for you to borrow, if you wanted them, and laying them on the bed for you to change into after he left. (You had changed into them, and he had collected your dirty clothes during the night, when he had peeked in to check if you were sleeping okay.) He had also left a full glass of water on the nightstand for you, in the hopes that you would drink it if you woke up dehydrated in the middle of the night. He hadn't yet heard you stir, but he still hoped you had finished it.

Papyrus silently opened the door when he got no response, but paused when he saw you curled up in his bed, cocooned in a bundle of sheets, your face buried into the pillow. He smiled, his gaze traveling automatically to the nightstand, where an empty glass was sitting next to the lamp. Some tension he hadn't been aware of was already draining away, and he nudged the door open a little farther, peeking in at you. He thought about speaking again, but you were curled up so tightly, just a speck of hair all wrapped up and comfortable. He didn't have the heart to wake you just yet, because he knew that when you woke, it would be time to ask his questions and have the conversation he was dreading, and he wasn't sure how to approach it. He didn't even want to think about it.

He didn't want to think about what might have happened to you if he hadn't been the responding officer, didn't want to think about what might have happened if nobody had called you in at all, if you had sat there all night, alone, in the dark. Then there was the possibility that you might have tried to drive yourself home, or worse, tried to go home on foot. Alone. In the dark. Drunk. Blearily, last night, you had tugged your phone out to check it before he had left you to go to bed, and the battery was dead. How long had it been drained? How long had you been out there with a dead phone, and how often did you stay out like this?

He exhaled, coming back to himself when you shifted slightly, sighing in your sleep. You were here, now, and that's what he had to focus on. You were safe.

Slowly, he closed the door on your sleeping figure and headed back down to the kitchen. He would wait a few more hours before he tried to wake you again, and if he still couldn't manage it, he would just make an abundant amount of french toast for you and leave it in the refrigerator for you to heat up again at your leisure.

Sans was still asleep as well, but he was sleeping in various locations today, laying unassumingly on the couch when Papyrus came downstairs, then slumped over the kitchen table when he entered through the archway. He assumed Sans was curious about you and was hoping that Papyrus would demand that he stop lazing about, so he would have an opportunity to ask his questions, but Papyrus was not particularly in the mood for these shenanigans right now. So, he simply prepared a plate of eggs for Sans, doused them in ketchup, and then set them down as quietly as he could next to his brother, patting his skull gently for good measure before heading to the laundry room.

Sans was there, of course, sleeping in a pile of clean laundry that had yet to be sorted, ketchup smeared across his teeth. There were only a few minutes left on the drying cycle, so Papyrus lifted his brother out of the basket and set him on top of the washer instead, then began to fold shirts and pile them up on top of him. He saw Sans' expression twitch with amusement before he began to talk in his sleep.

“papyruuuus,” he droned, like a ghost from a human horror story, “what's with the huuumaaaaan...”

“THEY ARE SLEEPING!” Papyrus brightly informed him, moving on to fold Sans' shorts and sweatpants, then adding them to the neat pile of shirts on his sternum. “I WAS GOING TO WAKE THEM UP, BUT THEY HAVE HAD A PARTICULARLY BAD NIGHT, AND SO I AM ALLOWING THEM TO SLEEP IN.”

“okaaaaaay,” he went on in the same tone of voice, “but what's their deeeeeeal...”

“I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE REFERRING TO,” Papyrus replied primly, then went on, “I _WILL_ SAY THAT THEY ARE FRUSTRATINGLY CAGEY SOMETIMES, BUT THEY ARE ALSO VERY NICE.” Papyrus smiled fondly at the pair of socks he was bundling, “THEY HAVE A KIND HEART... AND I LIKE THEM VERY MUCH. AS I HAVE ALREADY TOLD YOU.”

“wooooooow,” Sans said, voice returning to normal when he continued, cracking open one socket to grin at his brother, “this is the human you wouldn't stop talking about?”

“YES,” Papyrus said briskly, piling pairs of socks on Sans' midsection, where they managed to balance, despite the fact that there was nothing for them to balance on. “I WAS GOING TO INTRODUCE YOU ON SATURD-OO _OHH NO_ , SANS, WHAT ARE YOU _DOING???_ ”

Sans grinned slyly up at him from where he was laying, one of his newly-cleaned white shirts tugged out of the now-lopsided pile and currently being used, by him, to wipe the ketchup off his teeth. He chuckled when Papyrus let out a squawk, snatching the shirt out of his hands and holding it up in the air so the ketchup was fully visible– a long smear across the front.

“THIS HAS TO GO BACK INTO THE WASH BEFORE THE STAIN SETS, I'M SURE YOU UNDERSTAND??” Papyrus asked indignantly, shoving the shirt in his face. “AND ARE _YOU_ GOING TO BE THE ONE TO DO IT?? I DON'T THINK–” Sans cut him off with a giggle as he leaned forward, wiping more ketchup on the shirt, to Papyrus' dismay. “–NO!! _SANS!_ ”

But Sans was gone. In his wake, his clothes were left in a messy pile on top of the washer, somehow completely unfolded and mussed up in a tangled heap. Even the socks had been undone, laying haphazardly throughout the shirts and shorts.

“NO!! _WHY?!_ ” He received no answer, of course, and he huffed, sweeping the shirts back into the basket to be sorted again, then tossing Sans' ketchup-smeared shirt into the washer. On the bright side, the dryer had finished its last cycle and dinged at that moment, so he pulled your clothes out and began to fold them instead of Sans', which would now sit in the laundry room for another few days, untouched, until Papyrus inevitably caved and sorted them again out of frustration.

Or... _tried_ to. Depending on how pranky his brother was feeling.

He left your clothes sitting in a neat pile on top of the running washer, and then adjusted them until they were sitting perfectly aligned with the corner before he sighed, staring down at them.

Now, he only had to find a way to kill a few more hours without worrying obsessively.

 

→

 

“What's going on with your human??” Undyne shouted into his acoustic meatus around ten A.M. He was just putting the finishing touches on the note he was going to leave for you when she called, jumping straight to the point as soon as he picked up. “They haven't responded to _any_ of my texts!! I even called a few times!”

“THEY ARE STILL ASLEEP,” Papyrus informed her distractedly, as he quickly wrote the last few lines. “AND THEIR PHONE HAS BEEN DEAD SINCE AN UNDETERMINED TIME LAST NIGHT.”

“Oh!!” Undyne exclaimed, then paused before going on indignantly, “Wait, so was it dead when you found them??”

“I'M TRYING NOT TO THINK ABOUT IT,” Papyrus replied, shifting to hold his phone between his jaw and his shoulder momentarily to massage his frontal bone as he signed the bottom of the note.

“Jeez, they must have been really sick if they forgot to charge their phone...” Undyne grumbled, “Maybe they figured they wouldn't be out too long...”

“YES...” he trailed off absently and capped his pen as he began reading over the note, making sure he had written down everything he felt was necessary, “I DON'T THINK I HAVE A CHARGER FOR THEM, SO YOU MAY HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL I FINISH MY SHIFT. UNLESS MY BROTHER TAKES THEM HOME...”

“You're still coming in to work today??” Undyne asked incredulously, scoffing, “Don't they have a fever, or something? I was going to give you the day off!”

“WHY WOULD– N-NO, THEY JUST HAD A STOMACH... _THING_. I THINK...” he said nervously, tapping the pen against the paper in an anxious rhythm, “THEY DIDN'T HAVE A TEMPERATURE WHEN THEY WENT TO BED, BUT THEY WERE A LITTLE DELIRIOUS... I THINK IT IS ONE OF THOSE HUMAN VIRUSES THAT ONLY LASTS A DAY OR TWO.”

“Ooh, okay! Well, fine! If you don't want the day off!” Undyne said tauntingly, and Papyrus exhaled sharply through his nasal cavity, brows furrowing.

“I DON'T!” he insisted, even though the opportunity was tempting. He didn't want to miss any more work, though, and he would have felt bad taking an extra day under false pretenses. “BESIDES, SANS WILL BE HERE... I DON'T THINK HE WAS PLANNING ON GOING TO WORK, TODAY.”

“That reminds me!!” she shouted emphatically, her tone suddenly a little frustrated, “Can you tell him to stop avoiding Alphys??” she huffed. “I'm getting tired of hearing about him changing the subject every time she talks about work!”

“I CAN TELL HIM WHATEVER YOU WANT, BUT IT DOESN'T MEAN IT WILL GET RESULTS.” Papyrus declared exasperatedly, setting his pen down and lifting the note to read it one more time.

“True, but at least bring it up with him!” she yelled back, then huffed again, “I gotta go, the light changed. I'll talk to you at work, okay??”

“ALRIGHT,” he said, but Undyne had already hung up, and Papyrus sighed. He tucked his phone away in his pocket, then stood and walked out into the living room. Sans was right where Papyrus thought he would be, relaxing in one of the armchairs and snoozing away peacefully. “SANS!!” he shouted, and the other barely even moved, but stopped snoring, a sign that he was at least paying attention. “SANS, I HAVE A NOTE FOR THE HUMAN, PLEASE MAKE SURE THEY GET IT WHEN THEY WAKE UP!”

“hmm?” He opened one socket to look at Papyrus, the bottom lifting slightly in something like amusement, “they're still asleep? gee, you don't let _me_ sleep in this late.”

“I AM, RIGHT NOW, LETTING YOU SLEEP IN THIS LATE!!” Papyrus exclaimed as he waved the note around in the air. “I ALWAYS LET YOU SLEEP IN!”

“heh, oh yeah, that's right. my bad,” and he closed his eye socket once more, his snoring starting up at once. Papyrus stamped one foot on the hardwood floor, letting out a frustrated sound.

“SANS, I NEED TO LEAVE FOR WORK IN A FEW MINUTES! IF YOU ARE GOING TO STAY AT HOME, PLEASE AT LEAST MAKE SURE THE HUMAN SEES THIS NOTE! OKAY?” he said, and Sans let out a contemplative hum.

“ok,” he replied, not even opening his eye sockets. Papyrus bristled.

“SO, I WILL LEAVE IT RIGHT HERE...” he said slowly, staring at his brother as he made for one of the side tables, moving as if to put the note down. Sans did not look over, and Papyrus' sockets narrowed. “SANS. ARE YOU LOOKING? I WILL LEAVE THE NOTE RIGHT HERE, AND ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS POINT TO IT. OKAY??”

“ok,” he said again, and Papyrus made an exasperated noise.

“YOU'RE NOT EVEN LOOKING! I CAN TELL YOU AREN'T PAYING ATTENTION!” Sans only giggled in response, and Papyrus huffed. “I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, JUST MAKE SURE THEY GET IT. SANS, LOOK AT ME. LOOK ME IN THE SOCKET!”

Sans did, turning his skull and opening his sockets to stare at his brother, white eye lights focusing in on Papyrus' eye sockets. His expression lifted further in amusement when he saw his brother's face, and Papyrus exhaled slowly through his nasal cavity.

“CAN YOU DO THIS FOR ME?” he asked sagely, and Sans giggled again.

“ok.” he droned, and Papyrus gave up, throwing up his arms and stomping out of the room abruptly.

“I AM LEAVING!” he exclaimed from the kitchen, clattering around in one of the drawers before he returned, a roll of clear scotch tape in one hand, the note in the other. Sans had already closed his sockets again, and so Papyrus simply stomped over to him and laid the note delicately over his face, then taped it to his forehead. Sans immediately began chuckling, his breath coming out through his nasal cavity in tiny puffs that made the paper flutter. “I WILL LEAVE IT HERE, INSTEAD, AND THEY WILL BE SURE TO SEE IT EVENTUALLY! NOW ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS NOTHING. IS THAT BETTER?”

“yeah,” Sans said through chuckles, and Papyrus groaned, storming back into the kitchen to aggressively replace the tape dispenser in the proper drawer. Then, he walked calmly back out into the living room and primly plucked his keys from one of the hooks near the door.

“ALRIGHT, I'M GOING!” he called out to Sans, “I'LL SEE YOU AFTER WORK. PLEASE HELP THE HUMAN FEEL AT HOME, AND ALSO STOP DODGING ALPHYS, UNDYNE IS UPSET. DO YOU WANT ME TO PICK ANYTHING UP FOR DINNER?”

“whatever you wanna eat,” Sans called back with a shrug, and then Papyrus was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving only a shouted “SEE YOU LATER!” in his wake.

 

→

 

You rose to consciousness slowly, surfacing in stages of half-formed lucid dreams of confusing, hyper-realistic scenarios. Most of them just involved you checking your phone or getting up to get ready for work, and when you actually cracked your eyes open and blinked away the sleep, it took you a few minutes to fully regain your faculties, then a few more to register the situation

You weren't in your room– this was the first thing you realized. The mattress you were sleeping on felt much more comfortable than yours, and the sheets were much softer. Even the pillow was incredibly plush, like you were burying your face into a marshmallow, and it smelled clean, like fresh detergent, but it didn't tickle your nose at all. You dragged yourself up into a sitting position, surveying the surroundings. Across the room was a large bookshelf that was full to the brim, some books even overflowing to sit in neat piles on top of the shelf, or on the computer desk in the far corner next to the window. On the wall above the bed was a pirate flag, secured at the top corners by two pegs, and on a table nearby were an assortment of monster figurines, all appearing to be in battle poses, and arranged in a very meticulous formation. Three of them were forming a pyramid.

You appeared to be sleeping on a large race car bed; Papyrus' bed, you remembered. He helped you up here last night and left you some spare clothes to change into before he left the room. You were wearing them now– a blue and purple tie dye shirt that was far too long, and a pair of light gray sweats. They were a little tight and you had to roll them up, but otherwise, they were comfortable. You weren't sure if you had thanked him last night, so you made a mental note to thank him again later as you untangled yourself from the sheets with one hand, using the other to rub the fabric of the sweats between your forefinger and thumb with a smile.

Blinking blearily, you pulled yourself to the edge of the bed and let your legs dangle to the floor. Your phone was sitting on the nightstand next to a tall glass of water, both just within your reach. You had vague memories of waking up when it was still pitch dark and chugging the entire glass in three long gulps, so Papyrus must have come back in at some point and refreshed it for you. The thought made you smile, but a swarm of other memories came flooding back alongside the other, and your expression faltered.

You reached out numbly to take your phone and hit the lock button to light up the screen, but it didn't respond. It was probably dead, and trying to turn it on confirmed this, when the screen flared to life and eventually made it to your lock screen for about a millisecond, only to flash the low battery symbol and immediately shut itself off again. Of course, it would have been a miracle if it still had any charge left, since you hadn't had it plugged in since the early morning, unplugging it while you were laying in bed to roll over and browse the internet mindlessly with burning eyes. You remembered noticing that the battery was at eighty-so percent, and thinking that you wouldn't have to charge it until later.

Then, without preamble, you had left your apartment to stress-drive for an entire afternoon and get blasted in an alleyway. You couldn't really prepare for these kinds of things, though. They just sort of happened.

With a quiet sigh through your nose, you braced yourself to stand, gripping the edges of the bed to push yourself to your feet. You were a bit wobbly, a little light-headed and nauseous, but thankfully, you didn't have a headache. Reaching out to grab your water glass, you lifted it to your lips before tilting it back to drink deeply, and when you were finished, you sent a nervous glance towards the door.

What... time was it?

Was Papyrus... home?

If he _was_ home, you weren't looking forward to facing him after what happened last night. You'd put on such an embarrassing display that you couldn't even imagine what you'd say to him– or what _he'd_ say to _you_. Through the fog of memories, you remembered him telling you that he had some questions for you, and while you definitely had answers, you were worried they wouldn't be the ones he was hoping for. You weren't sure you even wanted to talk about half of the things upsetting you, weren't sure you knew how to put the other half into words.

Then again, if he wasn't home, what were you supposed to do? Just... hang out in his house for the day until he came back? You doubted he had any phone chargers you could borrow, so it wasn't like you could call him to ask what was going on. You weren't even sure what time he usually came home from work, but judging by the times he'd called you after his shift to say that he was already finished working, the answer was probably: late. Knowing him, though, he'd probably left you a note somewhere so you wouldn't be confused when you woke up. Honestly, you were surprised he hadn't woken you up earlier, but maybe he didn't know if you needed the sleep, or not.

Or... maybe he wasn't looking forward to seeing you.

Wow, that thought sunk like a rock straight to the bottom of your gut. Deflated, you gripped your phone anxiously and hoped that wasn't the case, all the while dreading that it was. His words drifted back to you as you crossed the room in an unsteady path towards the door, echoing around in your mind like a reminder.

“ _EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY,” he murmured, “I PROMISE.”_

You flushed at the memory, hand resting on the door knob. He'd said it with such conviction, but was that real, or was it just your drunken brain muddling the memory into something you wanted it to be? Did you imagine the way he stroked your hair gently, holding you tightly against him even after you'd finished crying? Did you imagine the soft words of comfort he'd murmured to you, over and over, as you curled against his chest? The feel of his teeth against your scalp?

“ _EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.”_

Fuck. You huffed out a breath and pressed your forehead against the door, trying to ignore the feelings that were suddenly surging forth in your chest.

“ _I PROMISE.”_

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, then forced them open again. You wouldn't think about it right now. You _couldn't_ think about it right now.

Instead, you opened the door.

You hovered in the doorway for a moment before wandering into the hall, letting the door close quietly behind you. The house was still, save for the sound of the TV drifting quietly up from downstairs as a drone of voices and music. Your pulse stuttered with mild panic, and you hurried down the hall instead, hoping to stumble upon the bathroom before you had to face him and acknowledge these emotions swirling around inside of you like a maelstrom.

The bathroom door was open, thankfully, and you slipped inside, making quick use of it before you had to go downstairs. Your stomach was already protesting with hunger as you washed your hands, and you exhaled slowly, holding eye contact with your reflection as you turned off the faucet. Alright. You could do this. You hadn't ruined everything, you hadn't made Papyrus hate you. You would be fine.

“ _I PROMISE.”_

You hung your head and groaned, opting to splash some water on your face before leaving the bathroom, drying off with your borrowed shirt instead of the fluffy towel hanging next to the sink. The water felt nice, and it reminded you of the film covering your teeth, so you rinsed your mouth out as well, then left, following their example and leaving the door open behind you.

Hesitantly, you approached the stairs, your empty water glass clutched in one hand, phone in the other. The TV played on from below, just indistinct chatter from this distance, and you took another deep breath before slowly descending, leaning to the side slightly to see around the wall before you'd entered the room.

Papyrus wasn't there, you noticed first. The living room wasn't empty, however, though the sole occupant was snoozing in one of the arm chairs with a piece of paper stuck to their face, a wide, toothy grin peeking out from either side.

It appeared to be another skeleton, judging by what you could see of their head, their hand that was dangling out from the sleeve of a much-loved blue hoodie, and the bones of their calves that were visible, sticking out of their basketball shorts. They were wearing tube socks, all bunched up at the ankle, and pink house slippers, one of which was dangling halfway off of their foot. You eyed them nervously, then descended the rest of the way, when a thought clicked into place in your foggy brain.

This must be Sans.

You entered the room silently, then stopped after a few steps, glancing towards the TV. Some daytime-television sitcom was playing, though the audio was turned down slightly. The skeleton you were assuming to be Sans was snoring at about the same volume, chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm inside of a black graphic tee that said 'GOT MILK?'.

“U-um,” your voice died in your throat at the thought of waking him up, and you swallowed anxiously. After a beat, you took in a breath to try again, figuring you should at least announce your presence, but he suddenly startled violently, letting out a loud, rattling noise that sounded like a snort and made you jump. The sheet of paper on his face flapped aggressively, then settled back into place as he sat up, barely giving you a glimpse at his expression.

“whoa,” he said in a monotone bass as he turned towards you sightlessly, the piece of paper fluttering gently with the movement, “don't sneak up on me like that. scared me half to death.”

“Oh– uh– sorry,” you rushed to say, stuttering as you blinked owlishly at him, “uh– hi– you– um–” He chuckled suddenly, turning so that he was sitting forward in his seat, then reaching out without looking to grab the remote from the side table. He muted the television before setting it back down.

“s'fine,” he rumbled, leaning back and stuffing his hands into his pockets, his head turned in your direction despite the paper taped to it. “nice t'meet ya. you must be the human my brother keeps talkin' about.”

“Oh! Um– yeah, that's me,” you replied, a slight waver in your tone as you flushed. Did he know why you were here? Did he think this situation was weird?? “Um, maybe. I mean– I don't know, maybe he has– um, other friends, uh–” you closed your mouth with an almost-audible click, slowly becoming even more unnerved with how he didn't even seem bothered by the paper blocking his vision. You weren't sure if you should bring it up. Was this a power move?? “Y-you must be Sans?” you said like a question, attempting to get yourself on a conversational track, and he chuckled again.

“yep.” he said, “guess papyrus told ya 'bout me.”

“Um, yeah, a little,” you replied, taking a silent breath to calm down and hoping Papyrus would choose this moment to suddenly pop out from a doorway and ease the awkward tension that was coiled up inside of you. He didn't, of course, because he was probably at work, and you shifted your phone to your other hand, holding it clumsily with your glass as your rubbed at the back of your neck nervously. “It's nice to meet you, too,” you tacked on, and then introduced yourself, just in case he didn't know your name already.

“yeah,” he was saying, then he held out his hand, “papyrus told me your name, but it's nice to meet properly. how 'bout ya put 'er there, buddy.”

You only hesitated for half a second before walking forward to shake his hand, glancing at the paper as you went. You jumped and almost dropped your things when he squeezed your hand and a loud farting sound erupted through the room. He started chuckling from the chair, and you blinked at him as he took his hand back, holding it up to reveal the miniature whoopee cushion fastened to his palm, now deflated.

“got ya,” he said, voice lilting up slightly as he wiggled his phalanges, and you snorted in spite of yourself, grinning down at him.

“That's new,” you admitted through a chuckle, some of the tension melting away, “Can't say anybody's ever pulled that one on me... uh, so,” you glanced away as he returned his hand to his pocket, then back, “You have a, uh... paper stuck to your face?” From here, you could see that it was covered in writing, from top to bottom, and you were wondering if it was for you. He didn't reply for a moment, and when he did, his voice wavered, as if he were only just holding in his laughter.

“oh, yeah?” he asked, grin twitching, then reached up to slap at it a few times with one bony hand. He hummed thoughtfully, not bothering to take it off, and his voice was once again neutral when he went on with a shrug, replacing his hand in his pocket. “huh. just thought it was real dark in here.” You snorted again, chuckling lightly.

“O-oh, okay,” you said, pausing. He still didn't remove it, and you shifted slightly, shuffling your feet as you continued, “So, uh, is Papyrus... home?”

“nah,” he said, and even though you were expecting that answer, you were oddly disappointed. “he left you a note, though. dunno where he put it... oh, wait.” He reached up then, and yanked the paper off of his forehead with one short tug, revealing an amused expression beneath. He had a rounded face, with large eye sockets that were currently flattened at the bottom,dark gouges beneath them making him look as if he never slept. A wide grin spread across his fused jaw, and you noticed that his teeth never parted when he spoke. Twin white eye lights floated in his overly-large sockets, flickering first to the paper, then to your face, focusing in like pupils. You blinked. “this is prolly it. knew he left it around here somewhere.”

And he winked, holding the note out to you. You took it hesitantly, and he immediately flopped backward in the chair, sighing.

“well– my job's done,” he said in a self-satisfied tone, closing his sockets, “should be pretty detailed. help yourself to the kitchen if you're hungry, pap made ya breakfast. s'all in the note, though.”

“Um, okay,” you said quietly, voice faltering towards the end, and you cleared your throat, glancing down at the paper, “Thanks.”

“no problem,” he rumbled, then gave an enormous yawn before apparently falling asleep once more, snoring gently. You turned away, taking a few steps towards the kitchen when your stomach growled again, though most of your focus was on the note. It was addressed to you at the top, like a letter, and he didn't write 'human' or 'drunk human' this time, but your name, spelled out in his overly-neat, spidery handwriting. You read it over while you entered the kitchen absently, a vague smile on your face.

 

'BY NOW, I SHALL HAVE ALREADY LEFT FOR WORK, BUT IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO TALK, THERE IS A HOUSE PHONE IN THE KITCHEN! I HAVE LEFT A LIST OF RELEVANT NUMBERS NEXT TO IT, IF FOR SOME REASON YOU CANNOT GET A HOLD OF ME THROUGH MY CELL PHONE. THIS INCLUDES THE STATION'S NUMBER, AND UNDYNE'S, WHICH I KNOW YOU ALREADY HAVE, BUT PERHAPS YOU HAVEN'T MEMORIZED IT? SANS ALSO HAS A PHONE, IF FOR SOME REASON YOU CAN'T USE THE HOUSE PHONE, AND HE SHOULD BE LOCATED UNDERNEATH THIS VERY NOTE, IN THE LIVING ROOM, NEXT TO THE TELEVISION.

I HAVE LEFT YOU SEVERAL PLATES OF ORGANIC FRENCH TOAST TO EAT WHEN YOU GET HUNGRY! THEY ARE IN THE FRIDGE, IN VARIOUS LOCATIONS THAT ARE QUITE EASY TO SPOT. I MADE SURE TO PLACE THEM NOT ONLY IN THE DIRECT LINE OF SIGHT, BUT ALSO IN THE PLACES YOUR GAZE MAY WANDER NATURALLY! AND I AM IMPECCABLE AT 'PRODUCT PLACEMENT', SO THERE IS NO WAY YOU WILL MISS THEM! NYEH HEH HEH! (THAT IS THE SOUND OF ME LAUGHING.)

I HAD QUITE A LOT OF TIME ON MY HANDS, SO I ALSO WASHED YOUR CLOTHING WHILE YOU SLEPT! IT HAS BEEN FOLDED INTO A NEAT PILE, LOCATED ON TOP OF THE WASHER IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM, WHICH IS THE DOORWAY AT THE BACK OF THE KITCHEN, NEXT TO THE WINDOW.

YOUR WALLET AND KEYS WERE STILL IN THE POCKET OF YOUR HOODED SWEATER. I HAVE LEFT THE WALLET IN PLAIN SIGHT ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER, THOUGH I HUNG YOUR KEYS NEXT TO THE DOOR FOR MAXIMUM CONVENIENCE. YOU CAN COLLECT THEM AT YOUR LEISURE, OR SIMPLY LEAVE THEM THERE! THE CHOICES ARE MULTIPLE!!

PLEASE MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME WHILE I AM GONE. IF YOU GET BORED, THERE ARE A MULTITUDE OF PUZZLES AND ACTIVITIES TO ENTERTAIN YOURSELF WITH, LOCATED IN THE LIVING ROOM CLOSET AND IN THE CUPBOARDS UNDERNEATH THE TELEVISION. YOU MAY ALSO HELP YOURSELF TO ANY OF MY MANY BOOKS, IF YOU FIND THAT THE PUZZLES AND GAMES JUST AREN'T CHALLENGING ENOUGH!

I WILL BE HOME AT TEN PM, AND I WILL BRING DINNER WITH ME, SO THE THREE OF US CAN EAT TOGETHER, IF YOU'D LIKE! IF YOU WOULD RATHER GO HOME, SANS CAN TRANSPORT YOU THERE, BUT I WOULD VERY MUCH LIKE TO TALK WITH YOU LATER. SO, IF YOU DO LEAVE, PLEASE CALL OR TEXT ME TO LET ME KNOW, SO I CAN CALL AFTER MY SHIFT IS THROUGH.

I HOPE YOU ARE FEELING BETTER TODAY, BUT EVEN IF YOU ARE, PLEASE STILL BE SURE TO KEEP HYDRATED AND EAT SOMETHING. I'M SORRY I AM NOT THERE, BUT I HOPE I WILL SEE YOU WHEN I GET HOME.

YOUR FRIEND,

PAPYRUS'

 

Like you were going to leave without saying goodbye in person. Like you _could_ leave without seeing him first. You appreciated the option, but despite the roiling anxiety in your gut that acted up at the very thought of being face to face with him again, there was also an underlying excitement, a different kind of anxiety that made you impatient for his return. So, if he was inviting you to stay and have dinner, there was no way you were going to decline.

' _YOUR FRIEND, PAPYRUS._ '

You stared at the note for a moment, reading it over once more before lifting your gaze to the kitchen counter– sure enough, Papyrus had indeed left your wallet there, where you could see it. The gesture made you smile, and you decided you would leave it there for now, seeing as you didn't have anywhere else to put it. Your phone joined it, as well as your empty glass, and then you folded the piece of scotch tape over the top edge before folding the paper itself a few times. You lifted your wallet and tucked the folded note safely away into the bill pouch, which was normally kept empty, before replacing it on the counter. A glance at the clock on the microwave told you it was well after noon, already almost three, and your stomach gurgled again, reminding you that you still hadn't eaten. Huffing, you moved to the fridge and opened it.

Inside, there were numerous plates of french toast visible, as Papyrus said there would be, all covered in a layer of saran wrap. You laughed lightly, smiling as you took one of the nearest plates out and closed the door. When you turned around–

Sans was grinning at you from the kitchen table, leaning his skull leisurely on his palm, and you jumped violently, almost dropping your plate. He must have somehow silently entered and seated himself at some point while you were reading.

“Oh! Jeez–” you exhaled, laughing wearily as Sans' expression crinkled with amusement. He chuckled. “You're– how did you get in here so quietly?”

“guess i snuck right past ya,” he said with a wink, shrugging, “didn't even see me sit down.” You laughed again, hovering near the counter awkwardly for a moment before you removed the saran wrap gingerly from the plate. His eye lights tracked your movements as you took it to the trash bin next to the fridge.

“Yeah,” you were saying as you threw it away, the plastic flap on the lid flipping back and forth when you pulled your hand back. You turned to smile nervously in his direction, the eerie feeling of being judged settling over you like a weight. It made your voice waver. “I-I'm still pretty, uh, tired, I guess.”

He hummed, watching as you stood still near the fridge, unsure of what to do and feeling oddly scrutinized. You almost felt like you were waiting for directions.

“gonna heat those up, or eat em cold?” he said after a moment, and you blinked, somehow startled, then glanced down at your plate. There were four slices of french toast in the stack, and all of them must have been ice cold by now. ' _Of course I am, I'm not a barbarian,_ ' is what you wanted to say, but you hardly knew him, and you didn't know how the joke would land. Instead, you shrugged, coming over to set the plate down on the table and sit across from him, content to settle for a cold breakfast.

“Cold is fine,” you were saying as the odd weight lifted from your shoulders. You picked at one of them nervously, and he snickered.

“not thirsty? don't need a fork?” he asked, and you shifted, chuckling.

“Um, maybe, to both,” you admitted sheepishly, and you stood back up, only to hesitate in the middle of the kitchen. “Where, uh–”

He told you where the glasses and silverware were, but after you had retrieved them and the milk from the refrigerator, you hesitated on your way back to the table.

“Thanks, um. Did you– want anything?” you gestured with the milk carton, and he shook his head, sockets lifting at the bottom in what you were beginning to understand was his 'amused' expression. He never seemed to stop smiling, as far as you had seen, but there were subtle shifts to his features that dictated just how _much_ he was smiling, and what kind of smile it was.

“m'fine,” he said, gesturing for you to sit back down. You did, after replacing the milk carton and plucking your glass of milk from the counter. “s'magic milk, by the way,” he informed you when you were seated, and you blinked.

“Oh! Neat,” you said as you took a sip. Of course it disappeared in your mouth, and the texture was similar to skim or soy milk, the flavor slightly sweet, almost like vanilla.

“s'good, right?” he asked, and you nodded with a smile, setting it back down and picking up your fork. Your nausea had immediately begun to subside, and it made you exhale with relief as you began cutting the french toast into pieces. “yeah... so...” he trailed off, and you glanced up towards him.

He was slumped over to the side slightly, eye lights focused on some point on the flowery wallpaper, and his grin seemed to have lifted into something like a smirk. You opened your mouth to ask him if something was wrong, but then his sockets were focused on you once more, and your words faltered on their way up your throat.

“looks like you an' papyrus are pretty close,” he observed casually, lifting one bony hand to rest against the back of his neck, “an' that's cool. you make him real happy...” he trailed off again, sitting up a little straighter, “and i don't know what happened last night. but he seemed real anxious, paced around the first floor until he just stormed out, came back two hours later with some human food...”

You set your fork down, suddenly not feeling very hungry anymore. Anxiety twisted at your insides, guilt settling in your belly like stones. He lifted his hand from his neck and waved you off, as if sensing the mental nose-dive you'd just taken, letting out a chuckle that sounded slightly nervous.

“nah, don't worry, m'not here to yell at ya. that's not my department,” he said with another, more relaxed chuckle, resting his head in his palm once more and surveying you with a neutral expression, “papyrus thinks you're nice, undyne thinks you're nice... an' i agree. you seem nice.” You glanced away nervously, then back at him, shifting to hold your elbows with your hands. “but... heh... and i know it's not really any of my business...” He scratched idly at his cheekbone, eye lights flitting to the side for a moment as he seemed to choose his words carefully.

“you were crying a lot last night,” he said, and you flushed, suddenly embarrassed– you hadn't spared a thought about whether or not you and Papyrus had been alone, but of course he'd heard you. His eye lights were back on you as he went on, “an' i don't usually see papyrus that worked up 'less someone gets hurt...”

“I didn't get hurt,” you mumbled through your embarrassment, staring resolutely at your plate. He hummed.

“no? okay,” he said, “maybe not... just thought it sounded like you were real upset about somethin'.” You fiddled with the table cloth, your other hand moving to sit in your lap.

“Well, I mean,” you said quietly, shrugging, “I _was_ , but... It's fine, really....”

“okay,” he said, and you glanced up at him. There was a relaxed smile on his face, and it put you at ease, coaxing a small smile of your own forth. He chortled. “like i said, it's none'a my business. but i'm glad you make my bro happy, that's all.” Your smile faltered, and you looked away again, humming.

“Do I?” you asked timidly.

“he really likes you,” Sans replied, drawing your gaze. He seemed amused again, or maybe this expression was fond, his sockets crinkled slightly, his grin lifting. “i can tell, on account of the fact that he told me. multiple times.” He winked then, and a warmth spread through your chest. You smiled, humming in response and lowering your gaze to your breakfast.

“Still,” you murmured, “I feel... bad... He was really worried, and if I had just...” you glanced up at him to see a patient smile still etched on his features, eye lights focused on you and not prying, just... waiting. “Uh, I just... I don't know how to talk about it... I don't even know why it upset me this much, why it made me... just...” you huffed out a sigh, “Sorry.”

“hey, it's fine,” he leaned back in his seat, shrugging. You frowned at him, “just be honest, an' he'll appreciate it... papyrus won't care if you keep some stuff to yourself, so long as you're truthful with him.” You hummed, gaze traveling back to your plate of partially-cut-up french toast.

“Yeah,” you said, one side of your mouth tugging up in a small smile, “I guess so...”

“anyway...” Sans said after a moment, “you should probably eat that,” and he grinned at you in good humor, pointing to your plate, “before it gets warm.”

It made you snort suddenly, snickering into your breakfast.

“Yeah, gosh, wouldn't want _that_ ,” you said sarcastically, smiling back at him, and he started chuckling, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't have much to say here, but i hope everyone likes how i wrote sans. i don't really like the usual 'sans is hostile towards reader' trope, because sans is actually a really good _judge_ of character....  
> heh....  
> anyway, he already knows about reader, of course, and in this story, anybody who makes papyrus happy is okay in his book. (of course, it didn't stop him from _check_ ing them out, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious)  
> and since he's not a love interest, my inspiration for his character is "cool uncle with existential dread"  
> i mean, that's basically him anyway, though, right? *thumbs up emoji*
> 
> thanks for reading!! >w<


	13. Until the waves of pain stilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "WHO SAID THAT I DON'T LIKE MOTORCYCLES?
> 
> “*I* DIDN'T SAY THAT I DON'T LIKE MOTORCYCLES.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey. i really like this chapter.  
> hey. _i really like this chapter._  
>  _H E Y_  
>  i hope everybody enjoys this one, because  
> (and i don't know if you can tell, because of how i already said it twice, but)
> 
> i really like this chapter.
> 
>  
> 
> also, i want to just thank everybody again for the support on this story! you guys really make my day, thank you so much for the comments and kudos.

You hadn't realized it at first, but Sans was almost the same height as you, give or take a few inches. You had only seen him sitting down previously, but once he stood up, he was actually about eye level with you, and he might have been taller, if it weren't for his constant slouch. Though, you weren't exactly the authority on good posture yourself.

When you were finished with your afternoon breakfast, you had gone to the laundry room to collect your hoodie and shrug into it thankfully. You felt a little better just wearing it, and actually sighed contentedly as you headed back out to the kitchen, leaving the rest of your clothes behind, for now. After you washed your dishes, you collected your wallet and dead phone, pocketing them before the two of you migrated into the living room, where Sans had promptly situated himself back into the same chair he'd been resting in earlier, and you had hesitantly asked if it was alright for you to look around in the closet for something to do. He had made a dry, rattling sort of sound that seemed like a snort, then cracked open one eye socket as he told you that Papyrus had invited you to snoop around, hadn't he? He also reminded you that you were supposed to be making yourself at home here, and what kind of host would he be if he _didn't_ stand by and let you rifle through his belongings?

“or papyrus' belongings,” he had amended after a moment's deliberation, while you looked around at the variety of board games Papyrus had accumulated over the years. “whichever.”

“Yeah,” you had said, lifting an aged copy of Chutes and Ladders and going on to observe that, “These are all for more than one player...” because of course they would be, there weren't many one-player board games out there.

There were an impressive amount of block puzzles in here, though, ranging from easier, eight-piece puzzles to complex, thirty-plus-piece monstrosities that you didn't even want to begin to embarrass yourself with. There were also some traditional puzzles in here, and while you did enjoy doing those, you weren't exactly in the mood for one. You had set the box you'd been considering down, then lifted up Mouse Trap, turning to wiggle the game at him tentatively, and glad to see that his sockets were still open and he was watching you. You attempted a smile.

“You game to play anything?” you had asked shyly, and he had let out a surprised laugh, slipping down from his chair like a slug and scooting across the ground to sit near where you were kneeling.

“good one,” he had said as you smiled for real, setting the game down to start setting it up. It took you a second, and then you realized what he meant with a snicker. You hadn't even meant to make a pun, but it was good to know that he liked them– you did, too.

The two of you played that game for a while before you both seemed to get bored, then hopped to the next one after hastily sweeping all of the pieces and the board itself back into the box. It didn't close right, but you set it aside to fix later, moving on to Pictionary, which did not last very long. Sans was a clever prankster, you came to realize quickly enough, but he was not a very skilled artist, or at least he didn't seem to be trying... at all. Every single one of his drawings ended up looking relatively the same, and you finally gave up when the thing he was supposed to be drawing was “hockey”, but the drawing actually looked like–

“Are you kidding?” you had exclaimed, much more comfortable than you had been earlier, and encouraged by your amused frustration, “That looks like some kind of– weird potato?? Or a snail??”

“no, look,” he said, holding up the picture with one hand, then pointing to it with the other, “s'a hockey stick... i'm trying out perspective, so the end looks bigger...”

“And what are _those??_ ” you asked with an incredulous smile, leaning forward to point at two lines sprouting out of the “stick” end of the snail-potato “hockey stick” like eye stalks.

“speed lines,” he said simply, and you snorted.

You spent a few more hours playing board games, hopping from one to the next when one or both of you got bored, and as a result there was a haphazard stack of board games growing outside of the closet, all set aside messily instead of being put away properly as you resolved to clean all of this up later. You barely played Monopoly for an hour before you lost your temper when you had to declare that you were bankrupt, somehow losing faster than you ever had before, and when you told him this, he had chuckled for a solid five minutes while you put everything away, simply adding it to the stack of boxes. It was growing more precarious by the time Sans shifted towards the television, which had been switched off a few hours earlier, and opened the cabinet beneath to reveal a Wii U and two remotes.

“What!?” you squawked, to his delight. He laughed harder when you saw the game he was putting in– Mario Kart– and let out a shocked exclamation. “You were holding out on me??”

“ya never checked,” he had said with a shrug, handing over a remote as the game booted up, and you sniffed, smiling mischievously.

“Yeah, well,” you said slyly as you shifted to sit next to him in front of the TV, readjusting your position until you were comfortable, “I'm actually incredible at Mario Kart? So...”

“oh yeah?” he asked, sockets creasing with amusement, “that so?”

“It is,” you said with a jokingly smug grin, tugging your sleeves up to your elbow and shrugging as you went on playfully, “I'm kind of the best, so... You'll _probably_ lose.”

Cut to you, losing.

Horribly.

Every single round.

Sans was a helpless pile of giggles as he placed first again, after the two of you had already been playing for about a little over two hours. He was falling over sideways with mirth as you sprung from your seat on the floor full of righteous fury, gripping your controller hard so you wouldn't throw it, because it wasn't yours, and these were expensive besides. You completely missed the sound of the door being unlocked, then clicking open as you whirled on him.

“HOW are you this good, Sans, you're not even TRYING!!” you yelled while he curled up on the ground, laughing harder as you went on, “Your EYES WERE CLOSED!!”

“i'm– m'just,” he said between chortles, burying his face in his hands, “m'just _the best_ at mario kart, i guess.”

The door snapped shut suddenly, and you jumped about a foot in the air, spinning around and almost losing your balance, your eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“hey, papyrus,” Sans said from the floor, tone still light with amusement, and Papyrus grinned from the doorway, pulling off his shoes with one hand and holding an inordinate amount of bags with the other. You hunched in on yourself involuntarily, fiddling with the controller in both hands anxiously as you waited, as if for some kind of judgment.

“HELLO!” he chirped as he adjusted his shoes to sit uniformly next to the wall. You watched as his gaze flickered from the two of you to the messy pile of board games stacked next to the open closet, his smile twitching as if threatening to fall. “WOW! I SURE AM GLAD TO SEE THE TWO OF YOU GETTING ALONG! WHAT A HORRIBLE MESS!” You winced, but Sans started giggling again, rolling to lay on his back instead. Before you could say anything, Papyrus continued, “HAVE EITHER OF YOU EATEN?”

“nah,” Sans said, and your face heated when Papyrus' gaze landed on you. You looked down, shifting nervously.

“Um, not since– earlier,” you said, then cleared your throat. “Thanks for– breakfast.”

“I SEE!” Not missing a beat, Papyrus lifted the bags in one of his hands almost triumphantly, and you glanced up hesitantly. He was still smiling, not showing even a hint of discomfort as he went on, “YOU ARE VERY WELCOME! YOU WILL BOTH BE PLEASED TO KNOW THAT I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE BOUGHT DINNER FOR EVERYONE! I EVEN WENT TO MIRA'S!!”

“aw, you shouldn't have,” Sans said from the floor, his sockets now closed.

“YES, I SHOULD HAVE!” he exclaimed as he glanced at Sans, and, “I HAVE HEARD MANY TIMES THAT ALL-MAGIC FOOD IS NOT EXACTLY FILLING FOR HUMANS,” he went on, glancing in your direction. He said your name and you almost jumped. “WOULD YOU LIKE TO HELP ME PUT EVERYTHING AWAY?”

“O-oh!” Sans had begun to snore gently from the ground, and when you glanced down, sure enough, he appeared to have fallen asleep. “Yeah, um. Sure,” you said meekly, gaze returning to Papyrus, and with a smile, he used his free hand to gesture for you to follow him into the kitchen.

He set the bags down as you entered after him, hefting them easily onto the kitchen table, then beginning to rifle through one of them. You lingered in the doorway for a second longer before approaching, coming to stand near him and reaching out hesitantly for a bag. It looked like he had not only bought dinner from Mira's, but had also done the grocery shopping for the week. The fridge had seemed full earlier, but you didn't ask about the amount of food he'd bought, simply unloading bags for him to put away instead.

“Is this, um,” you were inspecting the items nervously, holding up a packaged block of cheese, “Is this _all_... human food?”

“IT IS!” he exclaimed, and you turned to look at him, expression surprised, “EXCEPT FOR MIRA'S, OF COURSE, ALTHOUGH THAT IS ONLY HALF TRUE.” He grinned brightly, “I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE... GOOD TO HAVE MORE CHOICES FOR YOU, IN CASE YOU WANTED TO STAY THE NIGHT! SEEING AS IT IS GETTING VERY LATE ALREADY, AND–” he looked to the side slyly, “IF YOU– WANTED TO COME BY AGAIN, OR....”

“Oh,” you said when he trailed off, flushing and looking down. There was more here than just breakfast food, so it couldn't be just preparations for the morning. “Um, thank you. You– didn't have to...”

“OF COURSE,” he said, holding out his hand. You handed over the block of cheese. “BUT I'M GLAD THAT YOU DECIDED TO STAY,” he went on as he turned to put it away, “AND I WANTED TO.” You hummed, a little flustered and unsure how to reply, but he was already continuing. “I KNOW IT IS A LITTLE LATE TO BE HAVING DINNER, THIS IS JUST WHEN MY BROTHER AND I USUALLY EAT. IF YOU DID WANT TO GO HOME, I WILL OF COURSE DRIVE YOU BACK TONIGHT, BUT... YOU ARE ALWAYS WELCOME TO STAY, IF YOU'D LIKE.”

The idea was very tempting. You continued to hand him items quietly, attempting to mull it over, even though you already knew what your answer would be. He seemed to be having a difficult time fitting everything into the fridge, shuffling around plastic containers of what looked to be pasta and attempting to rearrange the plates of french toast in a less precarious manner.

“WE CAN TALK ABOUT ALL OF THAT AFTER DINNER, HOWEVER,” he said after a beat, his skull beginning to turn towards you. You quickly looked down, handing over a loaf of bread that he took carefully. “I... WOULD STILL VERY MUCH LIKE TO TALK TO YOU, IF YOU ARE FEELING UP TO IT. ARE YOU FEELING BETTER?”

“Um, yeah,” you answered immediately, a slight waver to your tone. You quickly cleared your throat, shrugging, and your face heated further. “Yeah, I'm– ...fine.” You held out a carton of eggs, and he took them from you after a beat of silence.

“I'M GLAD,” he said quietly. You could hear him moving some items around to make room for the eggs. “I ALSO WANT YOU TO KNOW–” he hesitated, and you peered up at him without lifting your head. He seemed to be choosing his words carefully, gaze on the far wall, his brows creased with anxiety... frustration? You couldn't tell which, and you lowered your gaze again, worrying your bottom lip absently as he went on, “YOU JUST SEEM VERY WORRIED, ALMOST AS IF YOU THINK YOU ARE... IN TROUBLE??” He seemed to pause, as if waiting for confirmation, but you refused to look up at him, reaching over to grab one of the bottles of juice from the table and holding it in your hands for a moment. “YOU'RE... _NOT_ , THOUGH? NO MATTER WHAT, NOTHING HAS CHANGED. ALRIGHT?”

You blushed, but nodded, glancing up hesitantly to see him smiling encouragingly down at you. He held his hand out for the juice and you handed it to him, returning his smile with a tentative one of your own. His expression brightened a little as he turned to put it away, humming.

“I– yeah,” you relaxed a little, watching him turn back to face you with a much more natural cheerfulness in his expression, “Sorry. I'm just,” you glanced away worriedly, your smile faltering slightly. “I'm just... like this. I feel like– I really messed up.”

“I WAS VERY WORRIED,” he said, and this time your smile dropped completely, even though you already knew that. According to Sans, he had been worrying all night. “IN FACT, I AM STILL RETROACTIVELY WORRIED ABOUT THINGS THAT DID NOT EVEN HAPPEN! BUT,” he chuckled suddenly, and you looked at him. His expression was sympathetic, teeth still curved into a grin as he continued, “ _I'M_ JUST LIKE THAT.”

“I'm sorry,” you said, gazing up into his sockets, and they creased slightly, making your cheeks warm further.

“I KNOW,” he replied, walking towards you and placing a hand on your shoulder. Your heartbeat picked up, thumping fast through your veins, “BUT THANK YOU FOR SAYING SO.”

“Y-yeah, of course,” you breathed automatically, then glanced down nervously, fiddling with your hands, “I mean– I don't mean– Ha, um–” He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, then moved to continue unpacking the groceries. You turned around to follow him with your eyes, peering cautiously up at him as he turned back around, “So, we– We're still... friends, right?” You cringed inwardly when he seemed to balk, looking more than confused by the question.

“WHAT? OF COURSE WE ARE!” he exclaimed, brows creasing again. You lifted your hands halfway, suddenly worried because the last thing you wanted to do was upset him, but then his expression softened, causing your apology to stick in your throat. “YES. YOU ARE STILL MY _WONDERFUL_ HUMAN FRIEND!” Wonderful? “AND I AM STILL YOUR INCREDIBLE SKELETON COMPANION! NYEH HEH _HEH!!_ ” He suddenly looked a little cheerful, humming. “THAT WILL ALWAYS BE THE ANSWER, NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES YOU HAVE TO ASK,” You clasped your hands, staring up at him as he went on, “BUT. YOU _CAN_ ASK. IF YOU NEED TO.”

You could only look at him for a moment, a million things you wanted to say racing through your head at once, a million ways you could apologize. But, maybe you didn't need to apologize, this time. Maybe it was okay. You swallowed the words bubbling up your throat, fiddled absently with your own fingers as you looked at each other.

“Okay,” you said quietly after a moment, smiling at him, “Thank you.”

 

→

 

The three of you ate together in the kitchen after you and Papyrus had cleared the table of groceries and empty bags, leaving the things from Mira's out. He had gone to fetch Sans and had brought him, still asleep, to the table and situated him in a chair without waking him up, placing his food in front of him. It was a burger and fries, though you and Papyrus were eating much the same thing you had the last time you had been to Mira's with him, popping chips and all.

You sipped at your drink, leaning over the table to get to the straw while you crumpled all of the trash up into one large ball and then stowed it into one of the still-intact paper bags. Papyrus was chatting about work amiably, and while you were listening actively, Sans was continuing to snooze in his seat, his food somehow still disappearing as if he were eating it. You had been trying to catch him taking a bite for the last ten minutes, but to no avail. He always seemed to move only when you weren't looking, and he must have been very fast– once you swore you looked away for only a second, and when you looked back, a fistful of fries had vanished, though his hands were pillowed beneath his skull.

You had loosened up considerably over the course of dinner, feeling more comfortable by the end, when Sans' food had miraculously finished disappearing, and Papyrus' trash had been added to the garbage amalgam inside of the bag that was in front of the empty seat beside you at the table.

“WELL! SOMEBODY IS TAKING THE TRAIN TO SLEEPYTIME JUNCTION!” Papyrus exclaimed abruptly as he stood, lifting the bag of garbage from the table. It startled a surprised snort of laughter from you as you grinned up at him with wide eyes, and Sans immediately began to chuckle into the table, cracking one eye open to glance at you before he was promptly lifted from his chair by Papyrus, who held him under the armpits like an inexperienced pet-owner might pick up their cat. You covered your grin with one hand as he walked Sans out of the room, continuing on to say, “SOMEBODY IS SO TIRED, HE CAN BARELY FUNCTION!” with the most monotone delivery.

“SO, HE'S HOPPING ON THAT TRAIN TO SLEEPYTIME JUNCTION,” he went on as he left, voice growing fainter the farther away he was. When he returned moments later, he seated himself next to you primly, and you stared at him with raised brows, expression amused.

“I HAVE ASKED HIM TIME AND TIME AGAIN NOT TO SLEEP AT THE TABLE,” he said, as if in explanation, and you leaned your weight on your forearms, tilting your head forward as if to say, _'go on?'_ He chuckled, “I USUALLY JUST RELOCATE HIM IN THESE SITUATIONS. HE IS NOW SLEEPING IN HIS ROOM LIKE A _NORMAL_ MONSTER.”

“Okay,” you said through a laugh. He still hadn't explained the rhyme, but maybe it was better without context.

“YOU'RE FEELING BETTER,” he observed, and you smiled at him, a sudden nervousness swirling in your chest as you nodded, because oh. Right.

You'd almost forgot... but it was after dinner now, wasn't it?

“But, I know you– um, had questions,” you glanced downward, “And you've... You were really patient... So, I...” you reached up to rub at the back of your neck, avoiding his gaze.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” he asked gently, and you winced, anxiety squirming in your gut. “WHY WERE YOU... OUT THERE? LIKE THAT?” He waited quietly, and you thought of what Sans had told you as you chose your words.

“It's, um... not the first time I've stayed out all night,” you admitted first, staring at your drink and holding it with both hands, though it was only melting ice now, chilling your palms and fingers uncomfortably. “I sometimes just ride my bike all night. That time you called me, um... in that first week we knew each other? I think we talked about... poetry, for a while?”

You glanced up anxiously, and he nodded at you, expression more neutral than anything else, as if he were carefully controlling it, so as not to reveal his thoughts.

“Um. I stayed out, that night,” you continued, eyes flickering to your drink, to the condensation sweating down the sides. “I was just feeling off... I was feeling off the night we met, but it wasn't as bad as... last night,” you hesitated, lifting a hand that was damp with condensation to smooth your hair back, then leaving it to rest against the back of your neck, “I haven't... been happy, here. In a long time.”

You were quiet for a moment, frowning and glancing to the side.

“In this city, I mean,” you muttered, letting your hand fall from your neck to grip the paper cup again, reaching up with the other to fiddle with the straw. “I don't... feel good. Here. And, I–” you broke off, swallowing before you decided how to say the next part. It wasn't a big deal, you told yourself. It wasn't a big deal, you overreacted. You weren't just upset about Miranda, though, were you. It wasn't just about her, but, “That– neighbor of mine, the one I was buying groceries for?” you said, glancing up. He nodded again.

“She turned out to be, uh... bad. She wasn't who I thought she was, and I didn't know it until I actually... _sat down_ with her, we just never really _talked_ about anything. She was always so nice, and I guess I was kind of...” you flushed a little, embarrassed, and looked away, “I was kind of... stupid.... I assumed she was good and sweet, because she was always so nice to _me_ , and she reminded me of... but, uh, she wasn't a good person.” You chuckled, reaching up to scratch at your hair, “And, I guess she kind of fired me? Because... I didn't agree with her, because I wouldn't do what she wanted me to do, because I wouldn't...” You paused, and he sighed.

“OH...” he trailed off, and you frowned again, running your thumb through a trail of drops on your cup.

“That's not really... it's not the grocery shopping, I mean... That was always more of a favor, I'm not upset about that, I just–”

“YOU'RE UPSET BECAUSE YOU LOST A FRIEND,” he said, and you nodded, lips pursing, expression tightening. You swallowed.

“Yeah,” you said, thumb pausing against the wet paper cup, “That's part of it. For a while there, I think... the only thing I really cared about was just. Fantasizing about... I dunno, leaving Ebott?” You pressed your palm against your forehead, sighing. “Getting away? And then I met her, and it felt like I had a reason to stay? Because there was someone here who wanted me around, because– It was a reason to put up with my apartment, with my job, with how I _feel_ , every day...”

Papyrus was quiet, and you closed your eyes, turning your face to hide it behind your wrist.

“I actually... it's kind of bad, but I thought about just leaving...” you mumbled into your skin, “About just... taking off without even going back to that building, but then, I... remembered you, and...” You swallowed. “It just... I couldn't go?”

“I'M GLAD YOU'RE STILL HERE,” he said firmly, and a sudden tightness formed behind your eyes. You sniffed, bowing your head and nodding.

“Heh, I... Hm.” You smiled, shaking your head. “Yeah, I mean... me too? I...” you trailed off, voice wavering, “I don't really... have... people, in my life. And, meeting you and... becoming friends with you, it... all felt like some kind of... fantastic dream?” You wiped at your eyes with your palm and sniffed again, sending him a hesitant, watery smile, half hidden by your arm. He was smiling back, sockets creased, angled upward slightly. “Like it wasn't really happening,” you admitted, hiding behind your arm again and glancing downward, tilting your drink cup as if examining the side.

“But it... _was_. And, it still _is_... somehow,” you laughed, and he reached out, settling his hand next to yours on the table, lifting it slightly on an angle, as if inviting you to take it. You paused a moment, then set your cup down and inched your hand over, sliding it underneath his and smiling more broadly. A silent sob shook through you when he lowered his hand on top of yours, and you cried quietly for a moment while he ran his thumb over your own, just... _being there_ , letting the contact speak for itself. Your face was turned into your arm, and you wished he was holding you instead, remembered last night in bleary flashes, yearned for that comfort, that closeness.

“WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL ME?” he asked quietly, and you took a steadying breath, shaking your head.

“I don't know,” you mumbled into your arm, “I guess, I just... I didn't really consider it an option, I don't... like bothering people with my issues, I don't like... I don't want to be a burden, or–”

“YOU'RE _NOT_ ,” he said emphatically, and you sniffled quietly, pressing your forehead into your palm, “YOU WON'T BOTHER ME, IF... YOU SAID THAT LAST NIGHT, TOO, THAT YOU DID NOT WANT TO BOTHER ME, AND... YOU _WON'T_. IF YOU WANT TO CALL ME, FOR ANY REASON, IF YOU NEED HELP, OR IF YOU JUST WANT TO TALK... IT WILL NEVER BOTHER ME. OKAY?”

“Okay,” you said, voice cracking, breath hitching.

“I MEAN IT,” he said seriously, hand pressing down against yours. You nodded, tears flowing hot and fast down your cheeks. “I _PROMISE_. IF I CAN HELP... I WANT TO. I DON'T WANT YOU TO GET HURT....” You inhaled a shaky breath, nodding again.

“Okay, I'm... sorry. I really am so sorry I made you worry, I wish you hadn't... had to worry,” you babbled, voice tight and wavering, and he turned your hand over to hold it, wrapped his gloved phalanges around your palm, and you sobbed once, gripping his hand back. “I wasn't thinking about anybody when I did it, I wasn't thinking about anything, because I just... didn't care? About what could happen, about... and I'm _sorry_ ,” you said quietly, pressing the heel of your palm hard against your brows, “I just wanted to _feel better_ ,” you rasped.

You sat in silence for a moment, the only sound being the tick of the clock hanging over the table on the nearby wall. His other hand joined his first on the table, and he held yours between his carefully, twisted his hand and ran his thumb over your knuckles as you sniffled quietly.

“WHAT CAN I DO?” he asked, and you barked out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.

“Are you kidding?” you asked, a hint of incredulity in your tone, and you went on, voice breaking, “You've already done more than I thought anybody ever _would_.” He was quiet for a moment, then squeezed your hand between his firmly.

“I WANT YOU TO FEEL BETTER, TOO,” he said gently, earnestly, emphatically into the quiet air.

You sucked in a sudden, shaky breath, and found yourself hunching forward into your hand, shaking with quiet sobs that wrenched themselves from you in tiny, gasping bursts. He tensed, phalanges stiffening around your hand, and then he let go, standing and shifting next to you. You drew your arm in wordlessly, accepting that he had pulled away, and that hand joined your other in covering your tears as you curled in on yourself.

A delicate weight pressed against your wrists then, his phalanges curling around them, and he tugged at them lightly, a silent request, more a plea than a question. You let him pull your hands away, face twisted with emotion, gaze downcast and bleary as you stared sightlessly at the tile.

He let go of your wrists and reached up with one hand to swipe at the tears tracking down your face, then pressed his hand against your cheek and watched you for a moment. You didn't dare look at him– _couldn't_ look at him, not with the way your heart felt like it was about to fly out of your chest, not with the heat swiftly rising in your cheeks, and what a strange combination of emotion, to feel flustered and happy, yet overwhelmed with an inexplicable, aching sadness all at once. To desire closeness, but feel the undeniable need to keep away.

Papyrus leaned forward and held you, kneeling in front of the chair and letting you cry into his scarf, and you wrapped your arms around him wordlessly and let yourself cry, weeping quietly until the waves of pain stilled.

 

→

 

You didn't want to pull away when you finally calmed down, feeling overly-sentimental and tired. You slept in late this afternoon, but crying so much had made you weary, and a dull headache had begun to pound in your temples, besides. Pressing your face further into the comfort of his scarf, you exhaled slowly, your eyes closed as he smoothed your hair back repeatedly, a comforting gesture that somehow felt natural, soothing you of the tenderness in your scalp, taking your mind off of the ache pulsing behind your eyes. A gentle crackle had started at some point, as if pop rocks were fizzing near your temple, where Papyrus's face was pressed against your head. It reminded you of the popping chips from Mira's, and that was soothing, too.

Eventually, you had to pull away. You leaned back from him gently and he let you go, hands trailing along your arms and resting there as you straightened up, reaching up with your hands to rub away any wetness still clinging to your eyes. Sniffing, you glanced up at him, and he was smiling, brows pinched with concern, a light dusting of blue decorating his cheekbones.

“Sorry,” you blurted automatically, for lack of anything else to say, and his expression flickered for a moment, faltering slightly. He hummed, straightening up and sitting back in his chair, though he pulled it a tad closer and left his hand sitting on the table. An invitation? An innocuous choice? Your gaze passed over it and settled on his face again, expression probably mirroring how tired you were.

“YOU'RE FINE, OF COURSE,” he said. His eye sockets angled to the side a moment, as if he were looking away, and then they were focused on you again as you smiled gently. “AND THAT IS A GOOD SIGN, I THINK.” You chuckled quietly.

“You're just amazing,” you said sincerely, reaching out shyly for his hand. He flipped it over for you, and you settled yours in his palm, humming as his phalanges enclosed your hand in his. “You already know that I'm an emotional... train wreck of a person,” you mumbled with an eye roll, smiling sardonically at your joined hands, giving his phalanges a squeeze. “But you make me feel better, no matter what.” He let out a fond sort of hum, thumb tracing your knuckles absently, and this felt... really nice. It made your face heat, your pulse quicken– but it was all platonic, of course, you quickly reminded yourself. He wasn't interested in you romantically, he _couldn't_ be. You were friends, and that was fine. You didn't care if he never wanted more.

That unnecessary train of thought made you feel a little flustered, and you huffed slightly, glancing to the side. What a feeling to unpack. You'd think about it later– that's what tomorrow is for.

“I'm glad I met you,” you said, and he huffed an amused breath through his nasal cavity, gripping your hand.

“I FEEL THE SAME,” he replied, making your pulse stutter. “AND I WANT TO BE THERE FOR YOU, WHEN YOU HAVE NIGHTS LIKE... YESTERDAY.” You looked at him and saw that his expression had turned slightly shifty, eye sockets glancing from side to side. “OR... TWO DAYS AGO? I BELIEVE IT IS A LITTLE PAST MIDNIGHT, BY NOW....”

“What, seriously?” you asked quietly through a laugh, glancing at the time on the microwave. It most definitely was, though not by a lot, and while that technically counted as being another day, you weren't sure it _should_. “Well, it's not tomorrow until I wake up,” you declared, and he chuckled, grinning down at you.

“AN INTERESTING STATEMENT,” he said, “BUT YOU ARE SORELY INCORRECT.” You snickered, and his expression lifted, brightening slightly before softening. “AND I MEAN WHAT I SAID. I WOULD LIKE IT IF YOU COME TO ME WHEN YOU ARE FEELING THAT BAD... OR BAD AT ALL... I WANT TO SUPPORT YOU.” You smiled at him, touched, then looked down at your hands before you could start to cry again, humming.

“What about you, though?” you asked gently, glancing back up. He blinked, looking confused.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” he asked, then sniffed pridefully, drawing himself up and poising his free hand against his chest. “THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS _NEVER_ UPSET!” he seemed to hesitate, sockets turning shifty again. “THAT IS... I HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO BECOME RATHER _PEEVED_ ON OCCASION.... AND I HAVE BEEN TOLD OFF ONCE OR TWICE OR AN UNCOUNTABLE NUMBER OF TIMES FOR BEING IMPATIENT....” You snorted, reaching out to hold his hand between yours, like he had done for you. His expression went soft again, and he looked at your hands, humming.

“Well... it's just. If I let you support me, you should... let me support you, too,” you said, glancing away and then back nervously, trying for a confident smile. He made a thoughtful sound, gaze on your expression now, hand slowly lowering from his chest. His sockets creased slightly, though as you watched, his brows came together a little– not necessarily in concern, but... discomfort, maybe? Your smile faltered slightly, and you almost drew back, but he gripped your hand with his, expression clearing suddenly.

“OF COURSE!” he exclaimed like an announcement, “NYEH HEH HEH! OF COURSE I ACCEPT! I... WE WILL SUPPORT EACH OTHER! THAT IS WHAT FRIENDS ARE FOR!” You smiled in relief, chuckling.

“Then... yeah,” you said quietly, “Because... I want to be there for you, too, if... you need it, and...” you glanced away, then back, “if you'll let me.”

“I WOULDN'T EXPECT ANY LESS,” he said gently, then turned his skull away slightly, looking to the side. “I WOULD LIKE TO EXTEND THAT OFFER AGAIN,” he glanced back in your direction, “BECAUSE IT IS GETTING SO LATE. I THINK WE SHOULD HEAD TO YOUR APARTMENT ANYWAY, BECAUSE BEING WITHOUT YOUR PHONE ALL DAY MUST HAVE NO DOUBT BEEN FRUSTRATING!” You had actually forgotten all about it, until now.

“I'm mainly just missing emails and app notifications,” you said with a chortle, glancing away, “Today was my day off, and I–” you winced, “I, uh... actually, I should... I called off of work, yesterday.”

“WELL, YOU WERE FEELING POORLY,” he dismissed it immediately, and you chuckled in relief, gaze returning to him.

“Also, I had a lot of fun with Sans today,” you went on, “I wasn't really thinking about my phone. I...” you blushed, looking down, “kinda... missed your call, though.” He hummed fondly.

“WELL, I WILL CALL YOU DURING MY MANDATORY LUNCH TOMORROW,” he said gently, “AND... IF YOU'D LIKE TO, YOU CAN STAY HERE UNTIL YOU HAVE TO GO TO WORK AGAIN. WE CAN PICK UP YOUR CLOTHING TONIGHT? OR TOMORROW. AND SANS CAN DRIVE YOU TO WORK, OR–” he paused suddenly, some sort of apprehension overtaking his features, and you blinked up at him in the same sort of realization.

“Oh! My motorcycle!” you exclaimed, voice pitching up as you lifted one of your hands from his to press against your forehead, then went on in some kind of abject horror, “Oh my God, it's been there since yesterday night.”

“WELL– IT SHOULD BE FINE!” he said reassuringly, and you glanced up, “MAYBE IT'S STILL THERE? WE CAN GO AND CHECK!”

“We– if it's okay, we kind of– need to, um–” you frowned worriedly, “if it gets impounded, it's kind of– stuck there... ha....”

“THAT CERTAINLY _WOULD_ BE A TERRIBLE SHAME!” he exclaimed, eye sockets decidedly shifty again, and your expression flattened in a dry kind of amusement.

“ _Ha,_ ” you intoned humorlessly as you lowered your hand, and glanced to the side, huffing, “I can't believe I forgot about it. I _can't believe_ I forgot about it....”

“WELL, IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER AT ALL, I HAVE AN INCREDIBLE MEMORY, AND EVEN _I_ FORGOT ABOUT IT,” he said, “SO... PERHAPS I SHOULD BE THE ONE SAYING THAT.” You winced.

“Yeah but,” you chuckled, “You were... I stressed you out, and you don't even like motorcycles.” He scoffed.

“YOU DID NOT 'STRESS ME OUT'... ALSO, WHO SAID THAT I DON'T LIKE MOTORCYCLES?” he asked, standing up and putting one hand on his hip. You chuckled, rising with him. Neither of you mentioned that you were still holding hands, and neither of you pulled away. “ _I_ DIDN'T SAY THAT I DON'T LIKE MOTORCYCLES.”

“No, you're right, how _could_ I make such a baseless assumption?” you asked in a monotone, grinning up at him wryly. His expression twitched with amusement, and then broke into a grin.

“NYEH HEH HEH...” he tugged at your hand, leading you towards the kitchen archway, “YES, PRECISELY. ALTHOUGH, I MUST ADMIT... AND I DON'T KNOW IF I HAVE MENTIONED THIS BEFORE!” He grinned slyly at you, “BUT, I THINK THEY ARE JUST A _SMIDGEN_ HORRIBLY DANGEROUS.” You barked out a quiet laugh, shaking your head slightly as you followed him to the front door.

“I'm a pretty great driver, though,” you said, and he seemed to pause before finally taking his hand back so he could put on his shoes. You tried not to let your disappointment show as you bent down to collect your own, slipping them on quickly.

“YES, WELL, EVEN THE BEST DRIVERS CAN HAVE TERRIBLE, LIFE-CHANGING ACCIDENTS,” he said brightly, lifting his keys from the hook. You did the same, and something about the gesture felt... good. It was like you belonged here, like you were welcome here. You tucked your keys into the pocket of your hoodie, snorting as he opened the door.

“Not me, though,” is all you said, prompting him to huff out an amused breath before the two of you left, closing and locking the door behind you, and, “The answer is yes, by the way,” you went on as he led you over to his car. He glanced back over his shoulder, smile already gracing his skull. “I'd really like to stay until Wednesday, and...” the two of you paused next to his car, him turning to face you, you fidgeting next to the passenger side. “It would be... really cool to see you again. Two days in a row.”

He beamed down at you, humming affectionately.

“YES,” he said, glancing downward, then meeting your gaze once more, “I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO IT VERY MUCH.”

 

→

 

The clock on Papyrus' wall read three A.M, and you had gone to bed almost an hour ago. The two of you had gone to collect your motorcycle, which had still, miraculously, been parked right where you left it, although with a new stack of parking tickets affixed to the windscreen. You had stowed them in your pocket begrudgingly, and they were laid out on the bedside table now, overlapping slips of paper resting innocuously in the low light. The lamp was off, and the room was cast in shadow, the only light filtering in through the window on the wall behind the bed. It was a deep blue, and outside it was quiet, the only sounds being your tinnitus and the chirp of the crickets, the tick of the clock. Contrasting that was the bright white light from your phone screen, intruding on the darkened room like an unwelcome guest.

The absence of sound almost seemed to make it harder for you to get to sleep, now that you were sober and alert, your eyes burning from staring at the screen of your charging phone, heavy with the weariness that comes from crying for hours at a time, two days in a row. You were wearing your own pajamas, having also stopped off at your apartment on the way back, so you could grab everything you thought you might need and store it in your duffle bag, which was now sitting on the floor at the end of the bed, open and rifled through already, a towel and a shirt peeking out, a toothbrush just barely visible.

You knew you should put your phone down and at least try to get some sleep, but every time you did– his smiling face, the way it had felt to be held so carefully, so closely, the way his voice had sounded.... It all came flooding back, and you couldn't stop thinking about it.

With a slow exhale, you closed your eyes, pressing the top corner of your phone to your forehead. There were almost twenty unanswered texts left on here from Undyne that you just did not even have the tiniest shred of energy left to begin answering, let alone read. She had even called a few times, and you hadn't listened to the voice mail she'd left either, as if the act of ignoring them would make them seem less real for a little while longer. Papyrus had mentioned that she was a little worried about you during the trip to your motorcycle, but by the looks of things, she had been _very_ worried, and you didn't want to unpack that guilt just yet.

Not to mention the fact that you weren't even sure why she was this worried. You had known Papyrus for a few weeks, but you had only met Undyne very recently, had only really spoken to her once. Twice, if you counted the texts.

You pulled your phone away and tilted the screen back, scrolled down as you browsed the internet a little longer, the unread notifications almost taunting you from the top of the screen, tiny and unobtrusive, but still constantly drawing your gaze. You continued to browse for as long as you could before it started to frustrate you, but you didn't want to open your messenger and see a word of even one of the texts. You knew you'd just start reading them all, and then you would work yourself up again, and....

With a sigh, you closed out the app you had been using, then hit the lock button and set your phone down on the bedside table, directly onto the haphazard pile of parking tickets.

Without fail, your mind began to wander.

And it was a problem, wasn't it? If you really liked him this much? You had often feared that you would fall head over heals for the first person to show you any level of real, genuine kindness like this. It hadn't been for nothing, then, that you'd been worried, your flights of fantasy rarely ever involving anything traditionally _romantic_ , but more and more, the longer you indulged yourself, revolving around just–

Being held. Like he'd held you.

Being spoken to softly. The way he'd spoken to you.

Being looked at, like....

Like he had looked at you. Like he really cared about you, like you _mattered_ to him, like...

Like he loved you.

You rolled over and curled into his sheets, pressed your face to his pillow, and you reached up to thread your fingers into your hair, gripping at your scalp as you groaned. This wasn't good, right? This was a problem.

You'd never had this level of vulnerability with anyone. You'd never been this close to anyone, never bared yourself like this without that first paralyzing moment of second thoughts, and while you had been very drunk the first time, Papyrus made you _want_ to be vulnerable with him, Papyrus made you _want_ to be closer to him. There wasn't that crippling fear of rejection attached to it that made you freeze in your tracks, made you keep your distance, made you pull away and never come back.

You didn't want to pull away, this time. You didn't want to keep your distance. And that scared you.

What scared you even more was that you didn't regret falling apart in front of him.

He'd made you feel so cared about, for a moment, like you mattered. He made you feel important every time he looked in your direction. Then he smiled, each time, and when his expression turned all soft and sweet....

God.

This was a problem... wasn't it?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, that was a game grumps reference, [sleepytime junction](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CHeSkF8g_RY) is my favorite thing that's ever come out of their channel, lol. i don't really watch them anymore, but i thought it would be kind of cute and funny to have papyrus say that.
> 
> a l s o ,  
> i want to just direct everyone  
>  _if i could_  
>  to a story that i feel is _really_ underappreciated and looked over.  
> if you get the chance, or you need something new to read, i really think you should check it out, because i really enjoy it, and i think some of you might like it, too? but i DO want to stress that you should heed the warnings and author's note.  
> [Metamorphosis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18396782/chapters/43567901) is a hidden gem. it's not advertised as a /reader story, but even if it goes in a different direction, there's fluff and hurt/comfort, and it's really cute. i found it by accident a while ago, because i'm obsessed with swapfell papyrus, and i think it's Very good.
> 
> anyway, thank you for reading. .w.


	14. Existing, for a while.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "IF YOU AREN'T TIRED, I WOULD NOT MIND THE COMPANY.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **warning** for some allusions to alcohol abuse  
> i really didn't intend for it to take so long to get this one out, but hey! it's here now! sorry for the wait.  
> i took some time in october to try and write some halloween shorts, and that went pretty well, i think. if you haven't read those and you want to, you can check 'em out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038774/chapters/50042291).  
> i hope you guys enjoy this one. :3 another transitional chapter.  
> 

You were awake when the door to Papyrus' room creaked open, scrolling back and forth through the texts Undyne had sent you and staring absently at the screen of your phone, not really reading them, just watching the text go up and down, letting the bright light burn your eyes. The moving door scared you into jumping at first, but a soft, startled noise from the other side made you relax.

“OH!” Papyrus said quietly, pushing the door open farther so his concerned expression could be seen through the widened opening, an apologetic smile quirking at his teeth. “SORRY, I– DID I WAKE YOU?”

“No,” you answered, voice just as quiet as you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, locked your phone and set it aside on the bedside table.

You hadn't been able to sleep much, just tossing and turning mostly, brain running wild with multiple trains of thought, all crashing into each other and causing pile-ups. The little sleep you did get was restless, though you weren't quite feeling it yet, not drained but alert like a live wire, still nervous and giddy. Papyrus' presence didn't do much to help, and when he pushed his way into the room, the sight of a full glass of water in his gloved hand did even less. Your expression softened, though he probably couldn't see it in the low light. It was barely dawn, not even six A.M. The room was only just turning blue, and it cast Papyrus' pearly bones in stark contrast with everything else, made them almost appear to glow as he entered the room and made his way over to the side of the bed.

“I THOUGHT I MIGHT LEAVE THIS HERE,” he was saying, still attempting to keep his voice lowered. He held the glass by the rim, lowered it down on the bedside table, and you smiled up at him, a warm tightness constricting in your chest. “IN CASE YOU WERE THIRSTY... HAVE YOU SLEPT AT ALL?”

“Not really,” you replied, glancing away and lifting one hand to scratch idly at your scalp, to brush your hair back almost nervously. “I was just– thinking... too much. I do that a lot.”

He hesitated next to the bed, then sat down on the edge, twisted sideways so he could face you.

“ARE YOU TIRED? YOU COULD HAVE COME DOWNSTAIRS,” he said, but your heart was thumping in your chest, blood rushing in your ears, and his words didn't quite register right away. You stared up at him for a moment, something about being this close to him in the dark making this moment feel less real, more poignant. Significant in a way it probably wasn't. You swallowed when he glanced away, looked down at your lap and felt your face heat up. “OR– OF COURSE– I JUST MEANT THAT...”

“Oh– no, I know!” you said quickly, worried that he had taken your silence negatively, that he might have thought you took it as him scolding you. “I just– it's... tired brain,” you went on with a chuckle, playing with your hands. “I haven't slept, so it... takes a minute to process... things....”

“AH, YES,” he said with a knowing air, “I HAVE PLENTY OF EXPERIENCE WITH THIS 'TIRED BRAIN'.” You snickered, glancing up at him.

“I thought you barely slept,” you commented, voice lilting up slightly. He huffed a breath through his nasal cavity.

“I DIDN'T SAY _I_ HAVE EVER EXPERIENCED IT MYSELF,” he went on primly.

“Oh, okay,” you chortled, smiling as you looked back down at your hands. There was a brief moment of silence as you struggled to think of something else to say, as Papyrus seemed to shift in place, skull turning away and then back in your peripheral vision.

“WOULD YOU... LIKE TO COME DOWNSTAIRS?” he asked, tone almost tentative in a way you weren't sure you'd heard before. “I DO NOT MIND IF YOU DECIDE TO STAY UP HERE, OF COURSE, IF YOU STILL WANT TO TRY AND SLEEP... BUT, IF YOU AREN'T TIRED, I WOULD NOT MIND THE COMPANY.”

You took a moment to process his words, smile widening involuntarily, then glanced almost bashfully to the side.

“I mean, yeah, okay,” you said quietly, shrugging, “It's better than laying up here and...” you trailed off before admitting that you had just been stressing yourself out about the other night, worrying over how you were going to reply to Undyne, and trying to ignore intruding thoughts about Papyrus. He waited a beat for you to continue and then, when you didn't, he stood up and clapped, startling you into looking up.

“THEN I WILL MAKE YOU SOME BREAKFAST!” he exclaimed brightly, and from what you could see of his expression, he appeared to be smiling. You grinned hesitantly back, face heating as his words caught up with you.

“Oh– uh– wait,” you said, throwing the blankets off and grabbing your phone on reflex as you stood up too, “I– I can make breakfast, I mean, you're already– You bought dinner, and–”

“HOW ABOUT WE _BOTH_ MAKE BREAKFAST!” he suggested, interrupting your anxious babbling. You hesitated, watching as he started for the door and grabbing the water he had brought up for you as you moved to follow, taking a drink absently as you went. “COOKING TOGETHER IS A TRADITIONAL BONDING EXPERIENCE! I THINK!”

“You think?” you said through a chuckle as you lowered the glass, following him into the hall and down the stairs.

“YES!” he chirped, “QUITE OFTEN, ACTUALLY!” You snorted gently, and in the brighter light of the living room, he turned to send you a rather pleased expression, a grin stretched across his features. It made your smile soften, and you glanced to the side, only to notice something that made you pause.

“Oh, God,” you chuckled, staring at the area that had been a mess of board games just yesterday and realizing that you had forgotten to clean it up– though apparently, Papyrus hadn't. “I'm so sorry, I forgot to clean up the board games...” you said, trailing off and glancing back at him. He scoffed.

“DON'T WORRY, HUMAN, SO DID SANS,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him again. “ALTHOUGH, I THINK IT IS LESS THAT HE FORGOT, AND MORE THAT HE JUST DECIDED TO LEAVE THEM THERE...” You chuckled mildly as the two of you entered the kitchen, setting your glass of water down on the table as he reached up to tug on the ceiling fan's pull-string, turning on the kitchen light and bathing the room in yellow.

“You could have just left them there, too, I would have cleaned them up,” you told him. He spared you a brief glance, already rummaging around in the cupboards for a pan, despite the copious amounts of french toast that were no doubt still sitting in the fridge.

“AND WASTE VALUABLE TIME DOING NOTHING?” he scoffed, pulling down a pan and setting it on the stove top, laying the spatula on top while he moved towards the fridge. “NEVER!”

You huffed out an amused breath, leaning back against the table as he opened the fridge, watching him quietly for a minute. Something about this moment felt so calm and natural, like the other night never even happened. Papyrus resurfaced from within the fridge, brandishing a loaf of bread and a carton of eggs almost triumphantly, and you snickered, pushing off of the table and reaching for them automatically with a grin, taking them gingerly as he turned to fetch the butter as well.

It felt nice, in a way nothing had for the longest time.

It was really nice, here.

 

→

 

When Sans came down several hours later, you were sitting in the living room, slumped against the sofa and dead tired, but forcing yourself to stay awake. Papyrus was upstairs, finishing up his morning routine before he had to leave, and Sans looked highly amused when he entered your line of sight, puffing an amused breath out through his nasal cavity.

“you look dead on your feet,” he commented, tone amused, and you smirked tiredly.

“Ain't on my feet,” you retorted tiredly, and he huffed a quiet chuckle as you went on, voice lilting playfully, “How was sleepytime junction?” His expression crinkled further, and he plopped down into the chair next to the sofa, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“thought you'd like that,” he said, “wish he'd done the whole thing, you should hear the chorus.” You snorted, grinning and sitting up a little straighter in an attempt to wake up.

“Why, what is it?” you asked through a laugh, and he snickered, shaking his head.

“nah,” he said, tone mysterious, and he closed one eye, “maybe i'll get 'im t'do it again sometime, get 'im t'go through the whole thing. gotta be sneaky.” You smiled, leaning forward instead of back to rest your elbows on your knees with a groan. “should go get some sleep,” he commented, more an observation than anything, and you hung your head.

“I might as well stay up now,” you groaned, and he laughed mildly, sinking back into the chair like he was planning on going back to sleep as well.

“why,” he said, not bothering to phrase it like a question.

“Papyrus is about to leave, isn't he?” you asked, turning your head to look in his direction. He nodded, sockets creasing, and you huffed. “Might as well see him off... also, I don't wanna sleep all day.”

“s'nothin' wrong with sleepin' all day,” he chortled as the water shut off upstairs.

“I don't wanna,” you muttered, exhaustion making you feel petulant.

“set an alarm after he leaves, then,” he went on, shrugging, and you grumbled, nearly inaudible as you slumped down further against your knees.

“I don't wanna,” you repeated, and he laughed.

“well, i tried,” he said with a sigh, shrugging as he pushed himself up laboriously from the chair and shuffled around it, headed towards the kitchen.

“There's breakfast in the oven,” you said, raising your voice slightly as you straightened again in your seat. He glanced back at you, still shuffling along at a snail's pace. “Papyrus put it in there to keep it warm for you.”

“heh. alright,” he replied with a smile, then disappeared through the archway.

Papyrus wasn't long coming down after he finished in the shower, but he wasn't wearing his uniform as he descended the stairs, his phone in hand, expression half-focused as he walked into the room. He was wearing an old shirt that looked like a souvenir from Final Home, the city's name printed across the front with the date it was established underneath, the Delta Rune emblazoned beneath it with golden trim. Beneath that was a pair of long black jeans, and his gloves were bright red today, his scarf red to match. This one was old and tattered, like he'd warn it plenty of times before.

He made a face at his phone, then glanced up as he hopped the last step, expression shifting easily into a smile that made you automatically smile back.

“I'LL BE BACK LATE, LIKE YESTERDAY,” he said in lieu of a greeting, pocketing his phone, and you wondered if it would be weird for you to ask about its ability to seemingly disappear into his pocket, after already having known him for a little over three weeks and having seen him do this multiple times already. It probably was. “ALL OF THE IMPORTANT NUMBERS ARE STILL LISTED BY THE PHONE IN THE KITCHEN, ETCETERA, ETCETERA,” he went on as he breezed through the room and into the small hallway by the front door. You could hear him shifting around, no doubt putting on his boots, and when he reappeared, he was wearing them, his keys dangling from his hand. “JUST MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME. ALRIGHT?”

“Um– okay,” you said, and he grinned brightly, turning to duck into the kitchen for a moment, exchanging a few words with his brother.

“ALRIGHT!” he exclaimed as he bustled back out into the room, hesitating on his way towards the door and looking at you for a moment, seeming to consider something. He opened his jaw, then paused before closing it and simply smiling. “I WILL SEE YOU AFTER WORK,” he said, and you nodded, lifting a hand to wave.

“See you,” you said, and he nodded, ducking around the corner into the entryway. “Good luck, okay? Stay safe!”

“OF COURSE!” he called back, and with a call of, “HAVE A GOOD DAY!” he was gone.

In his absence, you slumped to the side and laid down on the couch, your eyes closing automatically as you thought to rest them, just for a moment, and then you'd turn on the TV, or join Sans in the kitchen. You were out like a light in mere minutes, however, drifting off quickly as you curled into the sofa.

Some odd hours later, you awoke blearily from Sans' prodding. You grumbled sleepily, not all there just yet, and tilted your head to look up at him.

“Yeah?” you mumbled, unwilling to sit up and really commit to this whole 'being awake' thing. He put his hand back in his pocket, nodding his head towards the door.

“m'goin' to work,” he said, and you blinked, glancing towards the clock– it was well past noon, almost two p.m.

“Oh!” That cleared some fog from your sleepy brain, and you reached up to rub your eyes absently, pushing yourself halfway up on one arm to say immediately, without thought, “You gonna drop me off at home, or–”

“what?” he interrupted you, sliding his hand from his pocket again to wave you off, “heh, no,” he chuckled as you lowered your arm and stifled a yawn, then put his hand back in his pocket, taking a few steps away, “would be weird to just wake up alone, yeah?”

“Oh. Right, sorry,” you said, a knee-jerk reaction, and he stared at you for a moment, then hummed, eye lights shifting to glance to the side.

“'course,” he said, choosing to let the moment pass, “anyway, wouldn't wanna keep ya, if you wanna get some more sleep. 'less ya wanna come to work?” You sat up, rubbing a little more sleep from your eye.

“Where's work?” you mumbled.

“outside,” replied Sans, and you heaved an exaggerated sigh, making him chuckle. “yeah, same... well, hey, there's always next time.” He shrugged, and you glanced up at him, pausing for a moment. Then, you smiled.

“Yeah, alright,” you said, tone tentative, not quite believing, “Next time.”

 

→

 

> **Undyne  
>  **HEY, PUNK, Papyrus said you were really sick and passed out in an alley??  
>  Are you okay???
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **HEY, you'll be better by Saturday, right??
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **HEY
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **HEEEYYYYY
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Hey, are you okay???
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **I know a lot about human illnesses, you need me to come over and help?
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Okay, I know SOME about human illnesses.  
>  I can still check on you, if you want!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **I've been told not to come over.
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **It's really late, so you're probably asleep, or something, but let me know  
>  how you are when you get this!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **GOOD MORNING!  
>  Text me later!!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Or now!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Or later!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Just let me know how you're doing when you can!  
>  OR LET ME KNOW NOW!!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **(ノ°Д°）ノ︵ ┻━┻ NNGRRAAAAAAA  
>  That's ME, isn't it COOL??
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Anyway, UPDATE STATUS
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Lol oops, Papyrus said your phone has been dead this whole time  
>  My bad!!! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ
> 
> **Undyne  
> ** GET WELL SOON, OR WHATEVER!  
>  So we don't have to get drunk on a mountain without you!!
> 
> **Undyne  
>  **Hope you're feeling better, nerd! <3

 

→

 

You ended up falling asleep again not long after Sans left for work, waking with that groggy, unpleasant feeling that often dragged along after you whenever you overslept this late into the day. The strangest thing was realizing that you weren't uncomfortable waking up in their house, napping on their couch. You didn't feel displaced, sitting up in their living room and reaching out to check your phone without much thought, just to see the time. There was a new message in your notifications, another from Undyne, just wishing you well, and a strange mixture of guilt and warmth coalesced in your stomach. It made you feel simultaneously anxious about how long you'd ignored her (even if she didn't _know_ you were ignoring her messages) and glad that someone was thinking of you.

You texted her back, apologizing for how long you'd left her hanging, then going on to let her know that you were feeling much better now– all you really needed was a little sleep and some fluids, maybe a good meal. You didn't want to lie to her, but you also didn't want to get Papyrus in trouble, so you did tack on a line about medicine, since he'd already told her that was what you'd been going to get when you “passed out”. You had to suppress a bitter thought that reared it's ugly head then, a memory of taking shots of vodka out of a little medicine cup, joking about it to the open air, and nobody was there to laugh, but you didn't even think it was funny.

Lying made you feel even worse about the whole thing, but you were also glad that she didn't know the real reason you were in that alley, glad that your breakdown could be tied up in a neat little package and tucked away, glad that it was controlled, contained. And, hey– maybe you'd confide it to her someday, if you ended up becoming good friends, like she seemed to want.

You know, after the statute of limitations passed....

She texted back right away, enthusiastically, and the two of you kept messaging until she was too busy to reply, but she let you know she'd message you later. You sent back a short text, just a heart and an emoji, but it felt like enough.

You had french toast for lunch, re-heated on the skillet and then eaten in silence as you sat in the kitchen and watched the street outside. There was nobody out there right now, not many cars passing by, but you could hear them on the highway, the constant roar always audible, though it had long become white noise that you weren't really aware of unless you focused on it. You were outside in the backyard, sitting on a bench that had been placed back there next to a few rose bushes, when your phone rang, Papyrus calling like he'd said he would. Seeing his name pop up on the screen sent a happy little swoop to your stomach, made you smile even before you'd answered.

The world was turning blue when you decided to take a walk, carrying that happy feeling that talking with Papyrus always left with you as you stepped out of the house, snagging the spare key from the hook near the door and locking up behind you. It was quiet outside, but somewhere in the distance, you could hear a dog barking, children playing, people laughing. Someone had lit a fire, the scent of burning wood drifting to you as you walked down the sidewalk, the smell as nostalgic as the dark blue sky, streaked with gray clouds and growing darker by the second.

A human waved at you from their porch as you passed, a few other humans seated around them, all sprawled out on the steps or leaning against the railing, bottles and cans in hand. They were laughing with each other, smiling, and you waved back without thought, answering their cheerful acknowledgment with a polite smile of your own, and carrying that warmth as well.

It was strange, feeling visible and being okay with it. And it was strange, being able to exist, feeling like you were a part of something, even if it was only for a moment. It filled you with an odd, hopeful feeling, the same feeling you'd sensed a hint of only a few days ago, the same feeling you'd crushed under your heal on Saturday while you wept on the floor of your apartment, that you'd drank into silence on Sunday night.

The same feeling you'd felt on that first outing with Papyrus, biting into your wish chip and feeling that ruffle of it in the air, that sense that everything would be alright, and soon, that sense that something very good was about to happen.

It was tentative, fluttering, uncertain. You didn't squash it this time, didn't send it away. You kept it close as you walked through Papyrus' neighborhood, a smile on your face in spite of the tiredness lining your features, in spite of the weight still following you along. And it was dark by the time you got back to his house, wandering in while everything was all still and quiet. It was a different kind of emptiness than the one from your apartment, a different kind of energy that hung in the air here. Both of the boys were still at work, for now, but they would likely be back soon.

You laid back on the couch in the meantime, stared up at the dark ceiling and breathed it in, breathed out.

Existing, for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [here's a webcomic to consider](http://www.buttercupfestival.com/2-1.htm) if you need something new to read  
> it's something i used to read as a teen, and it took a six year long hiatus, but it's back!  
> i really enjoy it, and i think some of you might, too. also, i was really excited when i found out it was updating again, so i wanted to share it.
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading!


End file.
